Tales from the Academy Honorverse
by Scott Washburn
Summary: The Royal Manticoran Naval Academy produces the officers that command the Manticoran ships that are locked in a seemingly endless war with the People's Republic of Haven. "Tales from the Academy" follows 4 young cadets through the Academy. Set in the time shortly after "In Enemy Hands".
1. Author's introduction Read first!

Read This First! – Really!

Author's Introduction:

The stories that follow took a rather strange journey getting here. Way back in ancient times, the late 1990s, I started reading David Weber's Honor Harrington series and I liked it quite a lot. I got involved in a group of other Weber fans on this new-fangled Internet thing which had just popped up and I had a lot of fun discussing the books and making new friends. One of the biggest topics of discussion was, of course, what would happen in the next book? This grew especially vigorous in the wake of Weber's "In Enemy Hands" where Honor is captured by the evil Peeps. How would she escape? How would she get home? What were all the people who thought she was dead doing while she was gone? I developed my own set of ideas about what was going to happen. And while I knew that I wouldn't guess all the details correctly I had a sort of mental list of Things Which Need to Happen in the next book.

Eventually the next book, "Echoes of Honor" did come out and I read the whole thing in a single night. And I was kind of disappointed. Oh, it had been a rousing adventure, but unfortunately, when it ended there were several items on my Things Which Need to Happen list that hadn't been checked off. In my opinion the darn thing ended about three chapters too soon! It bothered me. A lot.

So, after stewing for about a week, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I wrote the 'missing' chapters. This was an entirely new experience for me. I was 45 years old and I had never written much of anything in the way of fiction beyond annoying assignments in English classes in high school. I had done some story-telling, though as I had been an avid Dungeons and Dragons dungeon-master during my college days. I loved coming up with intricate plots for my players to unravel. That was to serve me well.

So I cranked out the three chapters. Almost 30,000 words. A task that I would have considered cruel and unusual punishment during my school days, but which I now found that I enjoyed very much. It came as quite a surprise: not only did I enjoy writing, but I was pretty good at it. Or at least that what the folks who read the chapters said. Cool! I never posted the chapters anywhere as Weber had a well-known aversion to fan fic, but I did share them with the other fans I knew and their praise swelled my head quite a lot. Gee, maybe I should write something else…

As it happened, there had been an idea knocking about in my head for a long time. In my high school days I had avidly read the Hornblower novels, I'd also watched the original Star Trek TV series. I especially liked the early Hornblower novels where he was just a midshipman or a new lieutenant. I began to wish that someone would do a 'Hornblower in Space' series. Now I knew that the Star Trek series was intended to be exactly that, but with the main characters already high-ranking officers they were clearly playing the later Hornblower rather than the young one and it wasn't quite the same. I wanted a series about Star Fleet Academy! I'd read Heinlein's "Space Cadet", of course, and that was the sort of thing I was looking for, but I also wanted it to be in a wartime setting with battles and such. One day all the pieces clicked into place and I realized I could set the stories in the Honorverse instead of the Star Trek universe. "Tales from the Academy" was born.

So I started writing and started sharing the chapters with my Internet friends. They were very supportive and about a year later I had a finished novel. Cool! I'd never imagined I could do such a thing, but there it was. And people liked it! I shared it with about a hundred people and the praise was pretty much universal. Many folks wanted me to carry on with the story and I was happy to oblige. I next wrote "Lieutenants" following the careers of the cadets I had written about in "Tales". It was much longer, and, I thought, quite a bit better. I had learned some stuff doing the first one and my style was improving.

By the time I got to the end of "Lieutenants" my head had swelled to the size that I now felt I could try my hand at writing original stories. Stories I could actually get published. So I set my fan fiction aside and started writing 'real' stories. Over the next few years I cranked out seven finished novels. And they were good. Not just my opinion, not just the opinion of my friends, but I had real, professional feedback. By a strange set of circumstances I became friends with Eric Flint, who at the time was an up and coming star in the SF&F world. He felt my stories were absolutely of publishable quality and he went to bat for me with his own publisher, Jim Baen. But in spite of the support, my writing career never really took off. I published one short story, but that was all. The full tale is too long and too depressing, but let's just say I eventually gave up on the idea of becoming a writer full-time.

Some years later I had become very interested in the works of Lois Bujold. Bujold is an amazingly talented writer, probably the best of our generation. I read all her stuff and hungered for more. And I thought back to my fan fiction writing days and remembered how much fun that had been. And I saw that Lois did not object to fan fiction and there were actually places to post it on-line. Hmmm. But what to write?

Then I remembered "Tales" and "Lieutenants". Could I convert them to Vorkosiverse stories? At first I thought it would be fairly easy to do, but as I got into it I realized it would be much more involved. But I persevered and completely re-wrote "Tales from the Academy" as a Vorkosiverse story. I posted it and got lots of positive feedback. I'm currently in the process of re-writing "Lieutenants".

But then one of my readers asked to see the ORIGINAL "Tales" and "Lieutenants". I obliged and he urged me to post these as well. Since it seems that Mr. Weber is no longer hunting down and destroying people who write fan fiction in his universe (he never actually did that, but the threat was there) I figured: "What the heck?" So I am posting those stories here.

For those Bujold fans who have read the Vorkosiverse versions I will say that while some of the names are the same, the stories are very different. You can read these as new stories.

For Honorverse fans, I have a few additional words of information.

First, these stories were written in the 1998-2000 years, after the publication of "Echoes of Honor", but before the publication of the next book in the series, "Ashes of Victory". The stories begin with everyone believing that Honor Harrington is dead. She doesn't return until halfway through "Tales". "Lieutenants" takes place in the time period dealt with in "Ashes of Victory" but I wrote it before "Ashes" was published, (well, nearly, "Ashes" came out just as I was finishing "Lieutenants" and I did make a few modifications at the very end of my story to try and make it a bit more compatible with the canon plotline) so I was just guessing about what was going to happen in the 'Big Picture'. As you'll see, I guessed completely wrong. :)

Second, while a few canon characters make cameo appearances, my stories deal mostly with original characters and I have to mention a few things about a couple of those characters.

Helen Zilwicki. When I started "Tales" Helen had been seen for exactly one page of Weber's "Short Victorious War" as a four year old girl. We had never seen her again after that. I decided to take that girl and make her a major character in my story. This was several years before Eric Flint decided to do exactly the same thing in his story "From the Highlands". Our two interpretations of Helen are very different and whatever you think of them, just remember: I saw her first! :)

Anny Payne/Abigail Hearnes. Reading my stories you will see that there is a remarkable similarity between my character, Anny Payne, and Weber's character, Abigail Hearnes. Well, once again, my character came first. I invented Anny years before Abigail arrived on the scene. Any similarity is purely coincidental. Surely a case of Great Minds Thinking Alike :)

And there you have it. I hope you enjoy it.

Scott Washburn


	2. Prologue

Tales from the AcademyBy Scott WashburnFebruary 1999

**DISCLAIMER**

What follows is a work of fan fiction. It uses characters and situations created by David Weber. It is not authorized, recognized or, as far as I know, known to exist by David Weber or Baen Publishing Enterprises. My efforts here should be taken as a sincere homage to the wonderful universe of Honor Harrington that David Weber has created. I in no way mean to imply that I can do a better job than Mr. Weber.

**Prologue**

**R**ear Admiral of the Green Sylvia Thayer stared at the mass of paper work listed on her terminal and told herself for at least the twentieth time that day that she had one of the most important jobs in the entire Navy. She found it harder and harder to believe each time she said it. With a sigh, she touched the control stud on her power chair and swiveled to face the large window that took up one wall of her office. The endless list of reports had won-at least for the moment.

Although the ancient building the office was part of was not especially tall, Gatchall Hall was located on one of the highest points on Saganami Island and had a good view of the Academy campus. Thayer's eyes looked out at the Quad and the venerable buildings that surrounded it. Dozens of gray uniformed cadets, on foot or riding cycles, moved purposefully along the paths. She thought nostalgically of her days as a cadet when those buildings made up her world. _It seemed so complicated then, but now those days seem so clear and simple. The questions were hard, but I knew that each one had an answer. _Her gaze wandered past the dormitories and the athletic fields, past the parade ground, past the airstrip and landing pads, past the empty marina and the glittering waters of Silver Gulf, and finally stopped on a mass of new cermicrete and metal reaching skyward in the distance._ So many changes. It's been forty years and so much has changed-and not just the buildings._

The Royal Manticoran Naval Academy on Saganami Island had produced officers for the Royal Navy for nearly four hundred T-years. Its reputation for excellence was known throughout the human galaxy. Many extraordinary men and women had come from these halls and it was a place of long established methods and cherished traditions. But now those methods were being changed and those traditions challenged. _Because of the war; it's always the war, _thought Thayer. The war against the Peoples' Republic of Haven had been going on for nine T-years and there was no end in sight. The war had been consuming ships and men and women-and officers-at an ever-greater pace. The huge shipyards of Manticore and her allies were meeting the demand for new ships. Manpower needs were also being met as the public finally began to realize that every citizen was needed in this crisis. But meeting the demand for officers was straining the fabric of the Navy as never before.

Some could come from the ranks of deserving and qualified enlisted men and women. Others that were needed for strictly technical duty could be trained from talented volunteers relatively quickly. But the command officers, _the leaders_, they could not be turned out on assembly lines. They had always come from here, from Saganami Academy. But now, there just were not enough. To get them would require major changes. Changes that many in the Navy, and many here at the Academy, did not like. Changes that Sylvia Thayer was expected to implement.

Thayer sighed again and turned her chair back to her terminal, carefully maneuvering the large cast enclosing her right 'leg' to fit under the desk. _If it wasn't for the leg I wouldn't be here,_ she thought. Involuntarily, her mind went back and replayed, for the thousandth time, that day, six months ago. She had been on the flag bridge of _HMS Redoubtable_, in command of the Ninth Battlecruiser Squadron. It had been one of the numerous skirmishes around Barnett. They had caught a Peep supply convoy just inside the hyper limit and they were chewing it up. But even successful battles have a price and the Peep escorts put up a good fight. Her ships had been forced to split up to catch the scattering convoy and _Redoubtable_ found herself in a one-on-one fight with one of the Peeps' new _Mars_ class heavy cruisers. It was nearly as large as _Redoubtable_ and its electronics and weapons were nearly as good. Fortunately, her crew must have been nearly as new as the ship. Captain Pohanka fought _Redoubtable_ well and his veteran crew quickly gained the upper hand. They took some damage, but they slowed the Peep down enough that after half an hour _Virgil_ was able to overhaul them and add her firepower into the fray. The result then became inevitable.

Thayer had just turned to begin updating the withdrawal and rendezvous plan for the squadron when it happened. A Peep missile penetrated the ship's defenses and its X-ray lasers tore into _Redoubtable._ Thayer felt the impact and heard the curious noise that the ship always made when hit. She paused, but it seemed that the damage must not have been too serious. The Peep weapon had not penetrated that deeply and _Redoubtable's_ heavy armor absorbed most of the damage. But the hit had severed a major power conduit that was feeding one of the sidewall generators. Built-in circuit breakers and automatic shut-down mechanisms had gone into operation-but a tiny fraction of a second too slowly. The enormous power in the line needed to go somewhere-and ten meters of conduit and the surrounding structure had flashed to vapor just below _Redoubtable's_ flag bridge.

Thayer had an instant to sense that a secondary explosion had occurred-and that it was close-when the blast ripped through the deck. Smoke and flame filled the compartment. There were shrieks of pain and cries of alarm from her staff. A sharp but brief pain stabbed her leg, but it was the gust of superheated air and vaporized metal against the right side of her face that really hurt. She instantly grabbed her helmet off its rack and pulled it over her head and sealed it. Fortunately, the bridge had not lost pressure and the blast had spent most of its force coming through the deck. Thayer tried to see through the smoke, but it was too thick and her right eye was tearing so badly she could see nothing for a moment. She could still hear cries and curses from her staff, some over the com and some faintly through her helmet. The ventilators were pulling the smoke out of the compartment and eventually she could see again. There were bodies lying all over the bridge, some moving and some still, and other people trying to assist them. A large hole had appeared in the deck a few meters in front of her chair. Two command stations had been reduced to twisted wreckage.

Thayer unlocked her shock frame and started to get up to see what she could do-and collapsed back into her chair. She looked down and only then noticed that her right leg was not there anymore. It was just—_gone-_sheared off above the knee as neatly as if by a cutting laser. Impossibly red blood was spurting out of the stump. In a daze, Thayer activated the automatic tourniquet in her skinsuit and watched the bleeding stop. The next few minutes were like a dream; it was as if she were watching someone else. She turned to her one surviving command monitor and finished updating the withdrawal plan. By this time medics were in the compartment, but they were tending to the people who were down. She then contacted Captain Pohanka, ordered him to forward the instructions to the squadron, and inform Commodore Hutchinson on _Stalwart_ that he was now in command. Only then did she summon a medic. The look on his face when he saw her missing limb had almost made all of it worthwhile.

Thayer's thoughts returned to the present and she regarded the Commandant's office-her office-in which she sat. There was rich wood paneling on the walls, with intricately carved molding. A functioning fireplace stood in the wall opposite the windows with a large mantelpiece and a beautiful slab of Gryphon marble for the hearth. Exposed beams crisscrossed the ceiling and a thick carpet covered the floor. The room was big enough to play a game of tennis in, but it seemed much smaller because of all the..._stuff…_ in it. Her office was a veritable museum and tradition would not allow her to remove anything in it-not that she really wanted to. Each previous commandant had made his or her contribution to the collection and the room was like a miniature history of the Royal Manticoran Navy. Paintings and portraits covered the walls; dozens of model ships were scattered about in display cases. There were numerous bookshelves filled with bound books. Other cases held medals, uniforms, swords, log books, flags and all manner of bric-a-brac that had been important to somebody at some time. Edward Saganami's portrait hung over the fireplace, next to the Queen's.

When she had been returned to Manticore following the loss of her leg, Thayer had already decided to opt for a prosthesis instead of regeneration. The regeneration of something as major as a leg required nearly three T-years and the subject could not be too physically active during that time. A prosthesis could be fitted in a few weeks and Thayer was determined to get back to her command as soon as possible. But the Admiralty had other ideas. They had a standing policy dating back centuries to regularly rotate officers between field and staff positions. This was supposed to prevent the isolation (and fossilization) of the two branches and let each benefit from the experience of the other. It was a good policy in theory, but now Thayer was caught in the gears of the theory. She had been in the field for over seven T-years. There was no set time limit for a field or staff assignment, but whenever a reasonable length of time had passed and a suitable opportunity arose-like a medical leave-BuPers would strike.

It had been one of the hardest blows Thayer had ever taken, far harder than the blow that had removed her leg. The Ninth Battlecruiser Squadron was hers. She had been with it since it was formed, initially as second in command and for the last three years as its commander. She had trained it and molded it into a perfect instrument. The Ninth had a tremendous record and reputation in the Navy and Thayer was enormously proud of it. In her (totally unbiased) opinion it was the finest squadron in the Fleet. She knew virtually all of the senior officers by name and a good number of the enlisted personnel as well. She had given everything she had to the Ninth and they had never let her down.

And now it wasn't hers anymore.

She had no fears for the squadron itself. Commodore William Hutchinson had been promoted to rear admiral and given command. Thayer had full confidence in Hutchinson. "Hutch" had been her flag captain when she was second in command of the squadron and her exec for three years before that. He might not be quite as good a tactician but he believed in the value of training, and Lord, could the man fight! The people of the Ninth loved him nearly as much as they had loved her. No, the Ninth was in good hands-they just were not her hands. And she had not even been able to say good-bye.

Of course she had protested and of course it had done no good. She was to be given a staff position after her medical leave and that was that. Since there was now no reason not to, she had gone ahead with the regeneration therapy. A new leg was growing inside the cast that encased the stump of her thigh but she didn't really like to think about what was going on inside there. The process confined her to the power chair during her waking hours, and she had weekly appointments with the doctors. The initial treatments had taken about two months and then she was available for assignment.

She had been completely surprised when the Admiralty had offered her the Commandant's post. Except for a brief stint as an assistant instructor at the Advanced Tactical Course Thayer had never been involved in education. But apparently, she had impressed somebody, and her record at training the Ninth spoke for itself. She had accepted the offer with only a few misgivings since there was no hope of getting the Ninth back and this assignment would greatly advance her career. Upon completion of her term as Commandant, Thayer could expect promotion to vice admiral and a major combat command-that was traditional, too. Assuming the war was still going on, of course. Unlike most postings, the Commandant's position was for a minimum of four years and possibly more. Still, if she was going to be beached for three years anyway, this seemed like an interesting challenge.

Then she found out what they expected of her.

Thayer looked up at one of the portraits on the wall and said aloud: "Well Helen, I really put my _foot_ in it this time!" The portrait of Captain Helen Loehlin-Zilwicki said nothing.

That portrait was Thayer's sole contribution to the collection so far. Zilwicki was one of the Navy's great heroes, and she had been Thayer's closest friend. Helen Loehlin was a year Thayer's senior at the academy, but they had become almost inseparable. Of course, their duties after graduation had often kept them apart but they saw each other whenever possible. She could still remember her joy when she became Helen's executive officer on _HMS Baldur_. Thayer attended her wedding to Anton Zilwicki and she had become the godmother of their daughter.

And then Helen died.

It was one of the provocative "incidents" the Peoples' Republic engineered just before the start of the war. Helen had been commanding the escort for an important convoy, and the Peeps caught them in hyperspace with a full squadron of heavy cruisers. The Peeps probably thought the convoy would scatter, so that a few of the ships would have a chance to escape, but they had not counted on Zilwicki. She had taken her small escort straight into their teeth and torn the hell out of them. The Peeps were so badly hurt that the convoy escaped unharmed. Of course, Helen Zilwicki's entire force had been annihilated.

Thayer was devastated. It had only been three weeks since she was detached to take over command of a brand new destroyer. Try as she might, she could never rid herself of the idea that maybe, if she had been there, things would have been different. And she could never rid herself of the guilt of not having died next to her friend. When she was selected to deliver the Parliamentary Medal of Valor, Manticore's highest award for heroism, to Helen's husband, Anton, and little four year old Helen, it had been the proudest and saddest moment of her life.

Thayer continued to stare at the portrait. Like most artwork it tended to idealize the subject. Helen had never been quite that handsome, and of course she never had the opportunity to wear the medal that was hanging around the neck of the image.

"You always told me to scout out a situation before barging in, Helen," said Thayer. "But I didn't do that this time, and they bushwhacked me good."

The buzzer on her com startled Thayer out of her reverie. She quickly glanced to make sure the channel had not been open. _That's all I need!_ she thought with relief._ For my staff to hear me talking to myself!_ She punched a button and said: "Yes?"

"It's nearly 1400, ma'am," said her secretary. "You wanted to be reminded."

"Yes, thank you, Gwen," Thayer replied, and closed the channel.

Thayer moved her chair away from the desk and towards the door of her office. The heavy wood door swung open as she approached. There had been no need to modify that aspect of the office: Thayer was not the first commandant confined to a powerchair. Legend had it that once there was enough room in the office to have a conference table and hold staff meetings here, but it certainly was not possible now. Thayer headed through the outer office and towards the main conference room. In the corridor she was met by her adjutant, Lt. Commander Semancik.

"Good Afternoon, ma'am," said the young man.

"Good Afternoon, Chris," replied Thayer with a smile. "Ready to enter the lions' den?"

"Do you really think it will be that bad?" asked Semancik.

"I hope not, Chris, but there are a lot of ruffled feathers waiting in there, if you'll forgive the mixed metaphors."

As they continued down the corridor, Thayer regarded the young officer. He had been her flag lieutenant when she had commanded the Ninth. He had been wounded in the same action that cost Thayer her leg, although not as badly. Thayer had been delighted when he accepted her offer to become her adjutant at the Academy. She was very glad to have at least one friendly face around. _Because there are plenty of unfriendly ones._

The changes ordered by the Admiralty to increase the number of graduates while decreasing the time it took to produce them had been strongly opposed by many. The previous commandant, Commodore James MacFarlane, resigned rather than implement them, and a sizable number of instructors and department heads had followed his lead. Many of those that did not quit had made their displeasure with the situation quite clear. The fact that MacFarlane was an immensely popular and able commandant did not help matters. The large number of resignations and the need to increase the number of instructors badly disrupted operations at the Academy. Thayer had spent her first four months trying to fill in holes and finalize the new curriculum and set up plans for implementing it. This was the first time where all of the department heads and senior faculty were present for a staff meeting.

The door to the conference room opened at Thayer's approach. She could hear several voices raised in argument, that were abruptly cut off. As she rolled in, all of the people present came to their feet. Two dozen sets of eyes watched her steer her chair to the head of the large conference table. _Remember, it's not me they dislike, it's the new policies-I'm just a convenient target for their anger._

"Please be seated everyone," said Thayer with a smile. "This meeting will probably take a while and we may as well be comfortable. Chris, would you have the stewards bring coffee or whatever else the staff may want?"

"Of course, ma'am," said Semancik.

As the stewards bustled about the room, Thayer looked over the people who made up her staff. The people who she would depend on to make the new policies work. The people who could, quite possibly, make or break her career. Two-thirds of the total faculty were new, and considering the changes, that was probably a good thing. The Admiralty had chosen people who (unlike Thayer) knew what was expected of them and who would likely not pose problems. However, over half her department heads and the senior faculty were holdovers from the MacFarlane era. Thayer did not know if they had stayed because they believed in the new policies, were indifferent towards them, or simply did not want to leave the Academy no matter what was happening. _As long as none of them actively try to fight the changes or subvert the new policies, I'll be happy,_ thought Thayer. When the stewards finished she realized she could not put it off any longer and she began the meeting.

"Good afternoon everyone. I have met with all of you at one time or another, but this is the first time we have all gathered together," she said. "I think you are all aware of the great task we have facing us." Her eyes swept around the table taking in the nervous smiles and deep frowns that her words had produced. "Our Kingdom is undergoing the greatest trial in its history and our people are making unprecedented sacrifices to meet the demands of that trial. Every citizen must do his or her part. We have the honor of training the men and women who will lead our nation to victory."

Serious, even somber expressions met her now. _Pull on the patriotic string, remind them of what's at stake._

"With the expansion of the Fleet and the losses caused by the war, we are facing a critical shortage of trained officers. To meet this situation the Admiralty has decided to revise the Navy's method of training new officers. Perhaps the most dramatic of those changes is the decision to create new, entirely separate, schools for training engineering, technical and other support officers. In the past, all officers were trained here. Everyone received essentially the same training. Those that showed special talent for command, engineering or one of the support fields would receive additional instruction after graduation. In this, Saganami Academy was similar to other military academies dating back millennia. We provided a general, liberal education, including the arts, literature and the social sciences. After graduation the new officers would receive the specific training for their career tracks." Thayer paused for a moment. _They know all this, but do they accept it?_

"The concept behind the new policy is that the Academy will now only train cadets who are on the command track," she continued. "Preliminary testing will determine which track the applicants are best suited for. Those with engineering, technical or support talents will be sent to the appropriate training school. Those with the aptitude for command will come here.

"The second major change in the program has been made in response to the need to shorten the length of time needed to train the officers. The old program took forty-five months to complete. The new program allows only thirty-five months. In order to achieve this accelerated training we have taken a number of steps, some of which I know are very controversial," _Now there's an understatement!_

"First, we are demanding more from the cadets themselves. Higher entrance requirements have allowed us to eliminate several introductory courses. As you know, there was never a lack of applicants for the Academy before the war, and the war has generated a greater number than ever. Nevertheless, the increased standards and the fact that a large number of applicants are going to the technical schools has forced us to expand the pool from which we draw our volunteers." Several of the officers shifted uncomfortably in their seats and glared at her as Thayer mentioned this, but she went on.

"The testing standards have been raised across the board-with the usual exceptions which I will discuss later. In addition, there will be less free time in the cadets' schedules. While Saganami Academy has never been known for the amount of free time it allows its cadets," here Thayer paused and smiled and she was met with a number of smiles and chuckles from around the table, "what time there was will be further reduced. This will be hard on the young men and women, but they know there is a war on and they know the sacrifices that will be demanded of them.

"Second, by eliminating virtually all of the non-military courses from the curriculum we have greatly reduced the total load. I realize that to a certain extent we are cheating our cadets out of a well-rounded education. I know that I, for one, will miss those courses on comparative xenosociology," said Thayer. This produced another round of chuckles. "But unfortunately that was a peacetime luxury that we no longer can afford."

Thayer paused and glanced at the people around the room to gauge their reactions. Despite her flippant comment, she realized that they _were_ cheating the cadets. They were turning them into warriors rather than officers in the traditional sense. She was met with a number of stony stares from some of the old time instructors. Captain Henry Delbruck, the Academy's military historian, the only survivor of the academic purge, glared at her, but said nothing.

"On a brighter note, the Admiralty has decided to retain team sports and ceremonial drill both of which are considered necessary for purposes of morale and teaching teamwork.

"Third we have cut back engineering and technical training to the bare bones," she continued. "Some of what has been cut can be made up by the heightened entrance standards, and some can come from the increased number of training cruises. But there is no denying that this new breed of cadet will not have the same level of practical engineering knowledge that we received when we were cadets. This is regrettable, but the Admiralty believes that it is acceptable. Commander Haupt, did you want to say something?" Thayer had noticed that the new head of the Engineering Department was fidgeting in her chair.

"Uh, yes, ma'am." said Commander Harriet Haupt, getting awkwardly to her feet. "My instructors have asked me to voice their concerns to you. We understand the necessity for these new measures, but we are genuinely concerned that the graduates from this program will be unable to perform the basic engineering functions that will likely be required of them during active duty." It was clearly a prepared statement, and having said it, Haupt quickly plunked back in her seat, her face blushing red.

"I share the concerns of you and your people, Harry," said Thayer. "We all had the opportunity to put on coveralls and crawl around the innards of most of the major ship systems with a spanner in our hands during our training. Our new cadets are not going to have that opportunity. It is our job to make sure that they are solidly grounded in the basics so they can pick up the practical knowledge they will need quickly upon joining the fleet. We can take some comfort in the fact that in spite of the Admiralty's expectations, these young officers are not going to be given command of vessels any time soon. They will no doubt spend nearly as much time standing watches in the power rooms, impeller controls and sensor suites as we did when we were ensigns. If these people are as good as they are supposed to be-as good as we can make them-they should pick up what they need on the job."

"Yes, ma'am," said Haupt. "I hope so, ma'am."

"So do I, Harry," said Thayer with a smile. "So do I."

"That just about completes my introductory statements, people," continued Thayer. "We have a hell of a job ahead of us. Now we have to get down to the business of making things happen, and I don't have to remind you that the new class arrives in less than two weeks. Captain Upton will now proceed with the report on scheduling and then we will have the department reports. Thank you."

A tall, slim woman in a captain's uniform stood up and nodded to Thayer. "Thank you, Admiral. Ladies and Gentlemen, if you will look at your com-pads you will see the new curriculum diagrammed for the incoming class as well as the three current classes. As you can see, the Fourth Form class, who will be returning from their 'prentice cruise next week, will have very few changes to their form and will simply graduate a month earlier. The Third Form class will also have few problems, the content of their next two forms will be changed somewhat, but I foresee no unusual difficulties. It is the Second Form class that will have the greatest difficulty. Their recently completed First Form consisted of instruction that has been almost entirely eliminated from the new curriculum. While I would never say that this was wasted time, it does mean that this class has twenty-six months to complete an already much compressed thirty-five month course. Needless to say, this is not going to be possible. While we can make a few shortcuts, the end result is going to be that the Second Form class is going to graduate only a month or two ahead of the incoming First Form class. We may well expect some resentment and possible friction between those forms. If you will look at figure two you will see…"

Thayer had already heard Captain Emily Upton's report and read it several times as well. She tuned out most of it and let her gaze wander around the room. So far things had gone well enough, but how long could that last?

Upton finished her report and the department heads began theirs. One by one around the table it went: Captain Arthur Wagner from the much expanded Tactics Department; Commander Haupt, obviously very relieved to be talking engineering instead of politics; Captain Delbruck and the Warfare Sciences Department, still taciturn but sticking to business. Colonel Ardant DuPique's Leadership and Morale report caught Thayer's attention. DuPique stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. He was not only not from the Navy, he was not even from the Marines. Thayer was still amazed that an _Army_ colonel had allowed himself to become part of the Naval Academy but she wasn't complaining, DuPique was a brilliant scholar and his lectures were a positive joy to listen to. And so it went; Thayer kept expecting an explosion, but none came. Finally, the last report was read and all eyes came back to her.

"Thank you, everyone. Excellent job," she said. "Just a few more items and we can wrap this up. If you will look at your 'pads you will see a list of the incoming cadets who are from the Peerage or other important families. There are a hundred and forty-seven names on the list. While this is a large number by normal standards, it is actually a fairly small percentage considering the First Form class is three times the normal size. As is always the case, it is politically important that these cadets complete the course and be commissioned. You and your instructors are to keep a special watch on the progress of these people. If they fall behind they are to receive special tutoring. Whenever possible from an upperclassman but if necessary by an instructor. If progress is still insufficient, I want to be notified well before the crisis stage is reached. We may have to pass these people, but we are going to do our utmost to see that no half-baked officers reach the Fleet."

Thayer looked around the table and saw a wide range of reactions. A lot of excellent officers came from the Peerage, but a number of real deadbeats had come from there as well. It was a source of resentment and embarrassment, but there was little that could be done.

"One bit of good news I received yesterday from the Admiralty concerns discipline," continued Thayer. "Discipline is to be applied equally, no matter who the cadet's parents are. If any of our young ladies or gentlemen get too big for their britches, you are authorized to take the appropriate action. This applies to _all_ the forms, so some of our older cadets may be in for a rude surprise. If there are any complaints you may convey to them the First Space Lord's words: 'This is an Academy, not a country club.' " That brought a few chuckles from the seated officers.

"There is one other incoming cadet who may require some special attention," said Thayer in a more serious tone. "If you'll check your 'pads you will see the file for Cadet Andreanne Payne."

Thayer paused while the officers looked over the file. After only a few moments heads began to jerk upwards and eyes were staring at her. "Holy Moses!" whispered Lt. Commander Ferraro of the Provost Office. When he realized he had said that aloud, he blushed and said: "Excuse me, Admiral."

"No, no, Commander, I couldn't have put it better myself," said Thayer.

"A _ female Grayson cadet_, Admiral?" asked Captain Wagner.

"It does seem a bit unlikely, doesn't it?" said Thayer. "But I assure you it is true, and it poses a problem for us. You are all familiar with the, um.. peculiarities of the Grayson social system. Currently, even though women make up nearly three-quarters of their population, they are not permitted to serve in the armed forces. Cadet Payne is the daughter of the deputy consul at the Grayson embassy here on Manticore and she has lived here for nearly ten years. She is also a fourth cousin of the Protector himself. Apparently, she thought this up on her own, but when Protector Mayhew heard of it he became very enthusiastic about the idea. As you know, the only women in the Grayson Navy are those officers from the RMN who are on loan from us. The Graysons have accepted them—grudgingly-but they have accepted them. I am told that the Protector hopes that Cadet Payne will receive her commission in the RMN and after a bit of seasoning also be loaned to the Grayson Navy. She could be the foot in the door, so to speak, that will open the way for Grayson's women to join the military. So you can see the very important nature of the situation. Fortunately, Cadet Payne is well prepared academically as you can see from her test scores and evaluations. It will be up to us to see that she becomes an officer."

"I can tell that some of you are already evaluating the task, but there is another aspect to this situation that you probably have not considered," said Thayer. She could see that she had everyone's attention.

"And that is the matter of sexual relations."

Thayer almost laughed; the expressions on the faces of the people at the conference table could not have been more puzzled or surprised if she had said "artichokes" or some other non-sequetuer.

"As you are aware, we have always had regulations against sex between First Form cadets, between cadets of different forms, and between cadets in the same chain of command. Sex between cadets who are under the age of consent is also forbidden, of course. Cadet Payne is now a First Form cadet, so the problem is deferred for a while, but when she becomes a Second Form, we will have a delicate situation. While we have always endeavored to keep our cadets busy enough that they had little time for sex," this got a few smiles and smirks from the assembled officers, "there is no actual regulation against it if it does not violate the conditions I already mentioned. However, Cadet Payne comes from a very different society. Sex between unmarried persons is not socially acceptable on Grayson. If Cadet Payne were to engage in such activity and the word got back to Grayson, it could have very serious consequences. Not just for her, but for the whole idea of getting Grayson's women into uniform. As you can see from her file, she is an attractive young woman, and everything else being equal, she may well be propositioned at some point during her time here. The simple act of asking her could bring a hoard of angry male relatives descending on us to avenge her honor. Frankly people, short of issuing a general order against looking at her sideways I have no idea how to handle this situation. If any of you have an inspiration, _please_ let me know."

There were a number of smiles around the table now. _Good time to wrap this up, while they are still laughing._

"Well, if there are no further comments or questions, I believe we are finished for today..."

"Admiral!"

Thayer stopped short, saw who had spoken and thought: _Here it comes!_

"Yes, Captain Keeler?"

Captain Gabriel Keeler was a huge, bear of a man with iron gray hair and a large bushy mustache. He was in charge of Athletics and Drill as well as Cadet Morale. For reasons lost in ancient tradition, his position was always referred to as "The Master of the Sword". He had sat glowering silently through the whole meeting. Now he slowly got to his feet and stared at Thayer.

"Have you looked over the statistics of the incoming class, Admiral?" He said it quietly, but Thayer could sense the anger behind his words.

"Yes, Captain I have, rather thoroughly in fact."

"Have you noticed anything about the new cadets, Admiral?"

Thayer knew exactly what Keeler was getting at, but she was going to make him spell it out.

"Such as, Captain?" she asked.

"Their ages, Admiral," said Keeler who was clenching his huge fists on the table.

"Some of them are quite young, Captain. Is that what you are referring to?"

"Young!" exploded Keeler. "Young! They're just children! Ninety-seven of them are only fourteen years old! Two hundred and thirty-six more are only fifteen! Somehow a dozen _thirteen _year olds have gotten permission to enroll! This is wrong, Admiral! No, it's more than wrong, it's obscene!"

"Gabe," said Captain Wagner. "I know it's hard, but we have our duty..."

"Duty?!" shot back Keeler. "Don't tell me my duty! My duty is to protect our children, not train them to kill and then send them off to kill and be killed!"

"Captain, the Admiralty has made its decision..." began Captain Delbruck.

"Well the admiralty must be insane!" shouted Keeler. "I don't see any of the Admiralty's children on that list! Or the Cabinet's or the Parliament's!"

"Now that's enough, Captain!" said Colonel DuPique.

"No it's not enough!"

In a few moments half the people in the room were on their feet shouting at each other. The remainder were shrinking into their seats with looks of embarrassment and horror on their faces. Thayer sat impassively, watching.

After about a minute, though it seemed far longer, Lt. Commander Semancik leaned over to Thayer. His face was pale with shock.

"Do you want me to stop this, ma'am?" he asked.

"No, let them "Hutch" for a while." replied Thayer.

Semancik rocked back in his chair and stared at her for a moment. Then slowly a small smile appeared on his face, and Thayer could tell he was desperately trying not to laugh. Semancik knew Commodore-_Rear Admiral_-William Hutchinson, of course. _Everybody_ in the old Ninth knew William Hutchinson! Thayer loved him like a brother and would trust him with her life-she _had_ trusted him with her life, on many occasions. But his temper! Thayer had never figured out how he made it through the Academy, much less reached flag rank with that temper. When he got an order he didn't agree with (which seemed to include just about all of them) he would rant and rave and describe the mental, moral and genetic defects of the order's originator in graphic and profane detail. Then, after threatening to resign and generally venting his spleen, he would go and carry out those orders perfectly-and never admit the orders had been any good to begin with. His tirades had become legendary in the Ninth and anytime someone lost their temper they were said to have "Hutched" or "thrown a Hutch". Semancik suddenly realized that the entire staff of Saganami Island was having a giant "Hutch"!

Thayer watched the proceedings for a few more moments. Captain Keeler's original protest had now been joined by every other gripe and complaint her people had been harboring for the last few months. But it had gone far enough. Things were starting to be said that could have sent half her people to the Field of Honor, if regulations had allowed it, and placed the other half under arrest. So Sylvia Thayer did something that would have made her doctors very angry.

She locked her chair in place and then, bracing her hands on the arms of the chair she slowly pushed herself to her feet.

Before she was half way up, there was utter silence in the room. By the time she was fully erect everyone was back in their seats and staring at her wide-eyed. She returned their stare, trying to show neither her amusement at their reaction, nor the agony that was shooting up her leg.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, there are difficult and trying times ahead for us. We are going to be asked to do things we would rather not do. I do not need to point out that our society has quite admirably done away with every bias and prejudice that have plagued earlier cultures. Neither race, nor gender, nor religion, nor sexual preference-_nor age_-is a bar to any citizen for any position. The ability to do the job is the sole criteria. In the past we have placed an artificial limit of sixteen on the age for entering cadets. That limit had no legal standing, and has now been done away with. But this is not an easy thing. I am not going to feed you any emotional balderdash about these cadets sacrificing their childhoods so other children can keep theirs. I'm not going to insult your intelligence and tell you that all these people are volunteers and know what they are in for-we all know quite well from our own experiences that they have no idea of what is in store for them! And I am not going to insult your honor by reminding you of our duty and obligation to follow orders-whether we agree with them or not."

Thayer paused for a moment and her expression was hard.

"I am, however, going to remind you of our responsibility to the cadets in our charge. These young men and women, the pride of our nation, the best our society has to offer, are coming to us to learn what they will need to know to meet the great challenge that lies ahead of them. We can not fail! If we do, we fail our Queen, we fail our kingdom, we fail the families and loved ones who entrusted these cadets to us, we fail the Fleet, we fail the people who would serve with these ersatz officers, and worst of all, we fail the cadets themselves. We _must_ not fail. I have full confidence that we _will_ not fail. But if we do, may God have mercy on us.

"This meeting is concluded. You are dismissed."

Thayer lowered herself slowly back into her chair. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Semancik was only a few centimeters away but he did not touch her. Without looking at her officers, she backed the chair away from the table.

Everyone in the room stood and came to attention.

Thayer turned her chair and rolled out of the room, Semancik just behind her.

On the way back to her office Thayer glanced up at her Adjutant. There was a smile on his face and a gleam in his eye.

"That was beautiful, ma'am," he said. "Colonel DuPique should use the tape of that in his leadership class."

"Don't give him any ideas, Chris," said Thayer, but she smiled. "In fact, I want a level one "eyes only" lock put on that recording. If one of our cadet hackers managed to get hold of that and send it to the Judge Advocate General's office, we'd end up with half the faculty in the brig."

"Yes, ma'am, right away," smiled Semancik, "Will you be needing me for anything else right now, Admiral?"

"No, that's all for now. Thank you, Chris."

Back in her office, Thayer looked at her shaking hands. It was partly from the exertion, and partly emotional strain. Thayer hated confrontations like that. She had always tried to lead by example, but her staff didn't know her well enough for that yet. In the Ninth, she had rarely needed to get in anyone's face, and if she ever did, she usually sicced Hutch on them. She hoped there would be no more meetings like that one!

_The worst of it is that Keeler is right! They are too young. I argued it with the Admiralty, but they were inflexible. God! What are we doing to ourselves? _Thayer knew that in ancient times, midshipmen in the British navy had been even younger, but that was thousands of years ago. _Aren't we supposed to be more civilized than that?_

Thayer propped her elbows on her desk and rested her head in her hands, massaging her temples with her fingers. Then she rubbed her eyes and straightened up with a groan. Her right thigh was throbbing and she suspected she was in for a tongue-lashing when she saw the doctors next. Thayer sat and stared into space for a few moments and then she opened the top drawer of her desk and took out a small holo-display. There were two pictures in it. On the left was a little girl of three. She was all blonde curls and chubby cheeks and a grin with missing teeth. On the right was the same girl, age nine. Longer, straighter hair and a pleasant smile. Thayer put down the holo and tapped a few commands into her terminal. There was one other special cadet in the incoming class that they had not discussed at the meeting. Thayer scrolled down to near the very end of the list and pulled up a record. The girl pictured on the screen had short blonde hair and an expression so stern that few people would have connected her to the images in Thayer's holo-display. Thayer looked at the name on the record:

Zilwicki, Helen

Age: 14

_At another time and another place I would have been proud and thrilled to see her in the Academy. But not now, not here, not like this._

Thayer always knew that young Helen wanted to come to the Academy. After her mother's death, Thayer had taken her duties as godmother very seriously. She had watched over and guided the child, and helped Anton Zilwicki as much as her military duties allowed. She wrote to Helen often, and as the child grew, Helen had started writing back. Anton had written, too, voicing vague concerns over the increasing moodiness of his daughter. Thayer had not paid that much mind-until that last time she saw her, four years ago.

Thayer had been home on a short leave, she was celebrating her promotion to commodore and being posted as second in command of the newly formed Ninth Battlecruiser Squadron. She spent a lot of time with Helen and Anton. She was amazed at how much Helen had grown, but was disturbed by how serious she seemed. Helen only laughed if some adult made a joke and she rarely smiled. She asked Thayer endless questions about the Navy and the Academy.

On her last night there, Helen and Thayer were alone. Helen was prying more stories and information out of Thayer and they were up far past Helen's bedtime. At some point during the conversation-Thayer could not even remember now what they were talking about-she had chanced to use the phrase "before your mother died". Thayer had always tried to be as circumspect as possible about the subject of the elder Helen's death, and surprisingly, the young Helen had never asked any questions about it. But now Thayer had said: "before your mother died", and Helen had interrupted her-something she almost never did. The girl had looked straight at Thayer with those pale gray eyes that had always seemed so pretty.

"My mother didn't _die_, Aunt Sylvie, the Peeps killed her."

It was perhaps the most horrible shock Thayer had ever had. Worse than seeing her leg gone on _Redoubtable_, worse even than the news of the older Helen's death-those were things you knew could happen but hoped would not. This was something you would never expect. And the way she had said it: with no emotion at all, like she was correcting Thayer on what day of the week it was. But her eyes, those pretty gray eyes. There was hate in those eyes. A hate no ten year old should ever know.

But Thayer knew that hate. Oh yes! How she knew it!

It had met her every time she looked in a mirror. Every day for six years. Every day since she heard the news of Captain Helen Zilwicki's death. She had _hated_ the Peeps! They had not even declared war and they had murdered her best friend! The hate had driven Thayer. Driven her to do things and take chances with her ship and her crew that she shuddered to think about now. Driven her to win her flag and a spot in the Ninth.

And now that hate was staring back at her in the eyes of a ten-year old girl.

Thayer had returned to her flagship shaken. It was fortunate that there was a week's delay for some essential repairs because Thayer was in no shape to do her duty. How? How could it have happened? Anton was a gentle, loving father. As badly as Helen's death had hurt him, Thayer could not believe he had put that hate in his daughter's eyes. Through a sleepless night, Thayer re-read every letter she had written Helen and every letter Helen had written back.

And there it was.

Nothing specific, nothing in any one letter that you could put your finger on. But it was there. Her hate for the Peeps was there. Her desire for revenge was there.

And it had poisoned Helen.

Thayer tried to tell herself it wasn't true. Tried to make excuses. Tried to put the blame on wartime propaganda and news reports. But it _was_ true, she _had_ done it. Poisoned the person she now realized was the most important thing in her world. She had wept. For the first time in six years Sylvia Thayer had wept herself to sleep.

And when she awoke, her hate was gone. A ten-year old girl with gray eyes and blonde hair had drained her hate away.

All that was left was the guilt.

After that, Thayer had watched Helen closely through Anton's letters. She watched a girl who was as driven as Thayer herself had been. Young Helen was perfect in school, not just excellent or outstanding, but _perfect_. On the rare times she got an exam question wrong, she did something for extra credit to get her grade back up. She joined the Junior Officer Training Program and quickly became the cadet commander. She trained in the martial arts as if she wanted to kill Peeps with her bare hands. She researched the Academy requirements thoroughly, and Helen must have known that who she was and her mother's Parliamentary Medal of Valor gave her a virtual free ticket to the Academy, but she never slowed down. Helen had no close friends and ignored the things that would normally have occupied a child her age. Her whole life was aimed at her sixteenth birthday and her application to the Academy. Then, when they changed the rules on the age limits, she had applied immediately.

And in two weeks she would be here, at Saganami Island, where Sylvia Thayer was commandant. Where Sylvia Thayer would _'train her to kill and send her off to kill and be killed'_ Keeler's words came back to her like a blow.

_Dear God, what have I done?_

Thayer looked at the image of the girl on her monitor. Then she brushed her fingers on the images of the two girls in her holo.

She looked up at the portrait on the wall. The senior Zilwicki seemed to be looking down on her with accusing eyes. A tear trickled down Thayer's cheek.

"Forgive me, Helen," she whispered. "Forgive me."


	3. Book One

**Tales from the Academy**

Book One

**First Form**

**Chapter One**

**P**atric McDermott felt like an idiot. How could he have gotten separated from the rest of the group? They were right here a moment ago. He had stopped to look out the viewport for just a few seconds and when he looked up they were nowhere in sight. He knew he should not have stopped, but how often do you get to see a battlecruiser this close?

Patric was in the main passenger corridor of the Navy's _Hephaestus_ space station orbiting Manticore. He was one of hundreds of people in the corridor, although most-unlike him-seemed to know where they were going. He stood on his toes, adding to his already impressive two-meter height, to look over the heads of the crowd in hope of spotting someone he recognized. No luck. There were dozens of connecting corridors leading to other parts of the colossal structure. _Hephaestus_ was over sixty kilometers long, and even though only a small fraction of it was open to unauthorized personnel, that still left far too much for a random search.

Most of the people moving purposefully past him were wearing the space black uniforms of the Royal Manticoran Navy, A few were in dark green Marine uniforms, and a very few were in civilian clothes just as Patric was. None of those civilians were part of the group he was supposed to be with.

Patric did not panic; it was not as if he were lost. He knew where he was-sort of-but more importantly he knew how to get back to the departure bay where his shuttle would be leaving in a little over an hour. He could always meet up with the group there, but he wanted to find them before that: they were going to get something to eat, and he was hungry.

"Are you all right, son?" said a voice. "You look like you're lost."

Patric spun around and found himself looking down at a navy chief petty officer who had come up behind him. The man was easily thirty centimeters shorter than he, but obviously much older. There was gray streaking his hair and mustache and an impressive number of hash marks running down his sleeve.

"Ur... no, sir, I mean yes, sir," stammered Patric. "That is, I am all right, and no I am not lost, sir."

"Don't call me 'sir', I work for a living," smiled the man. "Well, are you looking for someone then, or do you just come here to rubberneck?"

"I'm looking for the group I was with, si...um...Mister..?"

"Seaton, Jon Seaton, at your service," said the CPO.

"Mister Seaton," finished Patric. "I'm here with a group of new cadets and I seem to have lost them."

"Cadets, eh?" said Seaton. "I kind of thought so: you're a mite young-in spite of your impressive size-to be wandering around this place alone. On your way to the Academy, I take it?"

"Yes, Mister Seaton," said Patric. "My group was going to get something to eat before our shuttle left, and I got separated."

"Oh? And just how did you manage to do that?" asked Seaton with a grin.

"Well, I was looking at that ship over there," admitted Patrick, gesturing towards the viewport.

"At old _Hermes,_ there?" said Seaton. "I guess she is worth a look at that."

"You know her?" asked Patric.

"Sure enough, she was my ship, once upon a time-or I belonged to her dependin' on how you want to look at it," said Seaton. "But you said something about eating-you hungry?"

"Uh, well yes, Mister Seaton," said Patric. "And I really should try to find my group."

"They could be in any one of a dozen mess halls by now," said the CPO. "Why don't you come with me and I'll spot you for some breakfast? Although I'm not sure I can afford to fill up that massive hull of yours."

"That's very kind of you, Mister Seaton," said Patric, somewhat taken aback. "But I couldn't possibly impose on you like that, and I do have to get back before my shuttle leaves."

"How much time do you have?" asked Seaton.

"About an hour," answered Patric, "but I shouldn't get too far from the departure bay, I don't dare miss my shuttle."

"You won't," said Seaton with a grin. "Now come along and let's get some grub."

The man turned and started to walk away; hesitantly Patric followed. After a few steps, Seaton stopped.

"Forgetting something aren't you, lad?"

"What? Oh! My bag! Thanks!" Patric ran back to where he had left his bag sitting on the deck and grabbed it. Jon Seaton just chuckled and started walking again, shaking his head.

They went down several corridors and entered the commercial sector of the station. The Navy allowed a few privately owned businesses to operate on what was otherwise an entirely military installation. Patric carefully memorized every turn so he was sure he could find his way back. They came to a tiny restaurant whose modest sign named it: 'The Drydock'. Seaton led him to an empty booth and they sat down. The CPO inserted his credit chip in the menu viewer and they both ordered. Patric saw the outrageous prices and ordered the cheapest thing he could find. Jon Seaton noticed that.

"Lost your appetite, eh? Well, they'll give you plenty to eat at the Academy-no time to eat it, but plenty to eat."

"Thank you for the breakfast, Mister Seaton," said Patric. "It's really very kind of you."

"Not at all, not at all," said Seaton, with a smile. "Glad to do it. And it gives me a chance to see what sort of grist they're putting into the mill these days. Never know when I might end up serving under one of you young whelps. Plus, the next time I see you, I'll probably have to salute."

"You have been in the Navy a long time, Mister Seaton," stated Patric, gesturing to the hash marks on his uniform sleeve.

"That I have, sixty years in war and peace. I've served under some mighty fine officers in my time, and under some not so fine ones, too, more's the pity," said Seaton, shaking his head. "The pity of the bad ones is, that away from combat they make your life miserable and in combat they tend to get you killed. Not that the good ones don't get you killed, too, but under a good officer you know that if you die it will probably mean something."

Patric just nodded his head, unsure of what to say. Fortunately, their food chose this moment to arrive, delivered by a woman wearing a grease-stained apron.

"Why, Jon! You old scoundrel! Why didn't you tell me you were here?" exclaimed the woman in obvious delight.

"Hello, Babs, didn't know if you'd be working at this ungodly hour, and me and me mate here are in a bit of a hurry," replied Seaton.

"A likely story! You're just avoiding me," the woman said with a wink. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Well pardon my bad manners!" said Seaton. "Except I can't tell you the lad's name because he hasn't told it to me."

Patric blushed and stammered, "Excuse me, my name is Patric, Patric McDermott."

"Glad to make your acquaintance, Patric," said the grinning Seaton. "Babs, this is Pat, Pat, this is Babs, the owner of this over-priced dive."

"You say the sweetest things, Jon. Glad to meet you Pat, and enjoy your meal." The woman winked at Seaton again and then walked away.

"A good woman, that one," said the petty officer. "She's kept me out of the hands of the Shore Patrol on more than one occasion. Remember that! You find the best friends in the most unlikely places and when you least expect them."

Patric nodded his head and then began eating his meal. He had ordered some sort of egg dish; they did not taste like any eggs he had ever had before, but they were good. Jon Seaton had eggs as well, but he had added a strip of meat that Patric instantly recognized as coming from the buffalo herds of his home planet. Seaton took a bite of the eggs and then reached for the condiment tray. "Good woman, but she still needs to learn how to cook," he muttered between bites.

"From your build and your speech, I would guess that you are from Gryphon, Patric, if you don't mind my asking," said Seaton, looking up from his plate.

"Yes I am, Mister Seaton," said Patric. "I guess it's pretty obvious isn't it?"

"Nothing to be ashamed of. This your first trip to Manticore?"

"It might as well be," said Patric. "My parents brought me here on a trip when I was very young, but I don't really remember anything."

"And now you are on your way to the Academy," stated Seaton.

"Yes, it's something I've always dreamed of," said Patric.

"Joining the Navy or being an officer?" asked Jon Seaton.

"The two have always seemed to go together," said Patric. "I guess I always wanted to join the Navy, but whenever I said anything about it, my parents said that if I wanted to join they wanted me to go to the Academy. After a while it seemed like the only way to do it."

"It makes sense, your parents wanting you to be an officer," nodded Seaton. "At least they are still letting you go, with the war and all."

Patric shrugged his huge shoulders. "Well, they couldn't actually stop me if I wanted to go-not legally anyway. My folks support the war effort; they know it's a fight to the finish between us and the Peeps. But my father has a pretty big spread of land on Gryphon and it's a lot of work to run. I'm the eldest and I think he wishes I would stay home to help-but he never tried to stop me from joining up. My mother is pretty worried for me though."

"Perfectly natural that she would be," said Seaton. "It's not easy seeing a child go off to the service, and it's doubly hard when there is a war. Sounds like you come from a fine family Patric. But you still haven't said anything about why you want to join or why you chose the Academy. There are plenty of easier ways to get into the Navy. Easier ways to become an officer even. And any person who does a useful job these days is helping fight the war."

"It's not just fighting the war, Mister Seaton," said Patric. "I wanted to join even before the war started." Jon Seaton quirked an eyebrow at this, and Patric sensed what the petty officer was thinking: The war had been going on for almost nine T-years, so if Patric was sixteen like most cadets, then his memories of 'before the war' must be pretty vague. The life-extending Prolong treatment did such unpredictable things to peoples' growth patterns it was impossible to guess the age of anyone above twelve or under thirty. "I'm nineteen," he said simply.

"Ah, I see. Your folks made you grow up a little bit more before turning you loose?"

"No, that wasn't it. I took the entrance exams at sixteen-and I failed," said Patric, blushing slightly. "I tried again the next year, and failed again. So I studied for another two years and finally made it this time." Patric was proud that he had been accepted, but he was embarrassed by his earlier failures. He was slightly surprised that he was telling a stranger this, but Jon Seaton was amazingly easy to talk to.

"You don't give up easy, that's a fine quality in a person," said Seaton, nodding.

"I'm not sure why I chose the Navy or the Academy," admitted Patric. "It just seemed like something worth doing, something worth belonging to, something... honorable."

"An honorable way to serve Queen and Country," nodded Seaton and Patric bobbed his head in reply. "I know what you mean, lad. Everyone has to do something with their life, and a person needs to feel like what they do has some meaning. Being in the Navy certainly means more than a lot of occupations, especially in times like these."

"I've been reading and watching HDs about the Navy for as long as I can remember," said Patric. "It just seems like something I want to be a part of."

"Well, don't believe everything you read or what you see on the HD," laughed Seaton. "The Navy isn't a bunch of perfect looking hero-types going from one adventure to another. Most of what we do is just plain, dirty, hard, boring work. But it is a mighty fine thing to be a part of, even so."

"I just hope I have what it takes to be a part of it," said Patric quietly.

"The fact that you are worried about it at all is a good sign, lad," responded Seaton. The man paused for a moment, then continued. "Some of these young ladies and gentlemen-and I'm not talking just about the nobility now-they go through the Academy and come out thinking they're the Lords of Creation. They think that just because they have the diploma and a pip on their collar that they are officers with everything that goes with the title. Stuff and nonsense! The Academy gives you the tools to _become_ an officer. The people under your command might have to take your orders because the law says so, but you have to work to earn their respect. The good officers, the _real_ officers, the officers that people will follow into a scrap without hesitation, work harder than anyone I know. They work to learn their jobs and they work to take care of the people under them. I don't want to scare you, young Patric, but what you've got ahead of you at the Academy is the _easy_ part."

"It is a bit scary," admitted Patric.

"New things usually are," answered Seaton. He picked up his glass and raised it in front of him. "Well, here's to the Navy and your last meal as a free man!" Patric smiled and raised his own glass. They drained them together and set them down.

Jon Seaton glanced at his chrono and said: "We better be getting you back to your shuttle, Patric. It wouldn't do to be late today!" They got up and left the small restaurant. Seaton gave a friendly wave to the proprietor as they went.

The woman waved back. "Take care of yourself, Jon! Oh, and thanks for that recipe! It's been very popular," she called. Seaton just smiled and nodded and kept walking.

"Mr. Seaton, I can find my way back to the departure bay on my own." said Patric. "You don't have to go out of your way."

"It's not out of my way, lad, I'm headed in that direction, too. Have a shuttle to catch myself." They reached the main corridor where they had first met and turned down the passage that led to the departure bay.

"Where are you headed, Mr. Seaton?" asked Patric.

"Same place you are," answered the Chief with a grin, "Saganami Island."

Patric looked at Seaton, eyes wide with surprise. Before he could say anything, however, another voice cut in.

"Well, Chief! I see you have found my lost lamb!" Patric looked ahead and saw Cadet Lathrap. She was a Second Form cadet who was in charge of Patric's group of incoming cadets. She did not look pleased.

"I certainly found him, Ms. Lathrap," answered Seaton, "but to hear him tell it, you were the ones who were lost. We just finished a pleasant breakfast, and I was afraid I was going to have to go looking for you."

Lathrap smiled and her look of irritation faded. Patric realized that Chief Seaton had probably saved him a chewing out.

"I don't suppose he could have gotten left behind if he was with you, Chief," said Lathrap. "After all, we can't go anywhere without you, can we?"

"No, ma'am, that you can't-unless you want to hitch a ride with someone else."

Lathrap gave a look of mock surprise. "And miss the chance to ride with the premier shuttle jockey in the whole Navy? Not likely!"

Patric looked at Seaton again, but he just smiled. "Well, I can't argue with the truth, can I now? If you'll get your people aboard, ma'am, I'll try to live up to my reputation."

Lathrap chuckled and shook her head. "All right! Cadet detachment One-One-Nine! Fall in and prepare to board ship!" The mass of cadets in the departure bay, nearly a hundred of them, grabbed their bags and scrambled into several ragged lines facing Cadet Lathrap. Still dressed in civilian clothes, they did not look particularly imposing. Patric found a spot and waited while Lathrap called off the roll. She did it from memory and Patric was impressed. When she finished she ushered the mob into the waiting shuttle. As Patric ducked his head and came through the lock, he found Jon Seaton waiting for him inside.

"Care to sit up on the Flight Deck with me, Patric?" he said. "You get quite a view from up there."

"Yes!" said Patric excitedly. "Thank you very much, Mister Seaton!"

"Not at all, not at all," said Seaton. "Although I hope you can fit into the co-pilot's chair, Patric, you're not exactly built to standard specifications, are you now?"

Sporting a huge grin, Patric followed Seaton into the cockpit of the shuttle, stowed his bag, and strapped himself into the co-pilot's chair on Seaton's right. He did fit-but with not much room to spare. Seaton busied himself checking the instruments and flipping switches. Patric looked on with great interest. After a few minutes, Cadet Lathrap stuck her head through the hatch.

"So! You've found yourself a new mascot, eh, Chief? You are a fortunate man, Mr. McDermott. Any cadet Chief Seaton takes a liking to has his success guaranteed. You'll probably make admiral while I'm still a lowly lieutenant!" She withdrew before Patric could think of any reply, but he found himself looking at Seaton again.

"Now she _is_ exaggerating a might," grinned the Chief. "But if there is anything I can help you out with, Patric, look me up-I'm not hard to find."

"Thank you again, Mr. Seaton. You've been very kind already."

"Not at all, not at all. Now let's go take a look at your new home!"

**Chapter Two**

**T**he shuttle dropped away from the _Hephaestus_ space station and headed for the blue-white planet of Manticore. The enormous station was in a geosynchronous orbit, over forty thousand kilometers above the planet's surface. From that distance, Manticore appears about the size of a dinner plate held at arm's length. Slightly more than half the visible surface was in sunlight. _Hephaestus_ was kept above the longitude of the city of Landing, the capital of Manticore, and it was early morning there. Saganami Island is a bit further west and considerably south of Landing, so it was shortly after dawn on the island.

Not much detail could be seen of the planet from this distance and Patric was paying no attention to it anyway. The space around the station was as crowded as a piece of empty vacuum can ever be. _Hephaestus_ was the Navy's largest ship construction and repair facility. There were dozens of other facilities throughout the system, but none as large or as busy as this one. The station was a cylinder, sixty kilometers long, with scores of building slips, repair bays and docking ports sticking out at all angles. Patric could see new ships being built and older ships being repaired or refitted. Other ships floated nearby, apparently waiting their turn. All manner of auxiliary craft flitted about, hauling components and materiel to where they were needed.

Patric had been infatuated with space ships, and particularly warships, since he was a small child. That was no small factor in his decision to join the Navy. His room at home was so cluttered with models and pictures that it resembled a scaled-down version of what Patric was seeing through the viewport of the shuttle. His younger siblings and cousins sometimes referred to him as 'The Mad Shipwright'. Patric's head swiveled around and he tried to take in everything. It was impossible, of course, be he tried anyway.

"It's a bloody traffic jam around here these days," said Chief Seaton, never taking his eyes from the controls. "I don't know why they still stage the incoming cadets through _Hephaestus_. There are plenty of other facilities that would do, but I guess old habits die hard."

The Academy always arranged for the incoming class of cadets to arrive on Saganami Island at the same time. Over the next hour, shuttles would be headed there from various assembly points on Manticore. Cadets from off-planet would be descending from _Hephaestus _just as Patric's group was.

Chief Seaton maneuvered the shuttle away from the crowded space around the station and then applied more thrust. Several gravities pushed Patric back into his seat.

The transport that had brought him from Gryphon had arrived only a few hours earlier. Patric wished he could have spent longer looking at all the vessels around the space station, but sadly, the warships quickly dwindled to specks. There was plenty of civilian traffic on its way to Manticore closer by, but they did not greatly interest him.

The planet was getting perceptibly larger in the viewport when the thrust died gently away. "Thirty minutes to atmosphere," announced Jon Seaton.

Seaton lounged back in his chair and began to talk about the things that had happened to him during his long career. At any other time Patric would have been fascinated to hear Seaton's stories, but the growing realization that he would soon be at the Academy was overwhelming everything else in his mind. He smiled and nodded his head periodically, but scarcely heard a word that the Chief said.

The Academy! In a few minutes he would actually be there! For years he had dreamed of coming here. For years he had worked to make his dream a reality. And now it was really happening! Even so, there was no simple answer to Jon Seaton's question about why he wanted to go to the Academy. Some of it was simply the exuberance of youth: It seemed like an exciting and adventurous thing to do-and, of course, there were the ships. But there were other reasons. Reasons he was only dimly aware of himself.

Patric was from Gryphon. It was a chilly, wild, empty world. With twice the land area of Old Earth and a population of little more than half a billion, there was a lot more land than people. Patric's family were farmers and buffalo herders. It was a hundred kilometers to the nearest neighbor, and three hundred to the nearest town. Patric attended school through the Educational Computer Net; he only saw his classmates on rare occasions. It was not that he was lonely; he had actually enjoyed those long, solitary hours inspecting the herds or working on the robot farming equipment. He had a large, loving family with grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins sharing their sprawling homestead. But there was something missing, an unfulfilled need deep inside him. He wanted to belong to something. He loved his family, but that was just not the same-not enough. He wanted to be a part of something bigger and grander than himself. And in this corner of the galaxy, there just was not anything bigger or grander than the Royal Manticoran Navy. So now he was on his way to become a part of it.

He was a little scared; he had no trouble admitting that to himself. Well, maybe he was more than a little scared. He was not worried about the discipline or the danger; he felt he could handle those. It was the classwork. He knew he was not brilliant. He had barely passed the entrance exam-after three attempts. He was of far greater than average intelligence or he would never have made it this far, but now he would be surrounded by some of the most talented young people in the Kingdom. The thought of flunking out was like a huge boulder suspended over him. He would put everything he had into his work-but would it be enough? To be sent home a failure, a disgrace... _No!_ _It hasn't happened yet! And I'm not going to let it happen!_

Patric took several deep breaths and forced himself to relax. Jon Seaton did not seem to notice and continued to talk. Manticore was larger in the viewport now. Patric turned his mind away from thoughts of failure and reviewed what he knew about the Academy itself.

Edward Saganami had founded the academy, just as he had founded the Royal Manticoran Navy. When the colony ship _Jason_ arrived at Manticore in 1416 PD, there were already four Earth-built frigates waiting there to protect the colonists' claim to the planet. These ships were the core of what later became the Royal Navy. But creating that navy was neither as easy or inevitable as history made it seem. In the aftermath of the plague that struck the colony in 1454, and the efforts to establish the monarchy, few gave much thought to a navy. The frigates, which had been purchased as surplus to begin with, were neglected over a period of decades. By 1479, the year Edward Saganami was born, the ships were barely capable of hyperspace travel. They were undermanned and completely obsolete.

At the time of Manticore's colonization, Warshawski Sail equipped vessels had been in existence for nearly a century and a half. But space is vast and the wormhole junction had not yet been discovered. Manticore was just one of hundreds of new colonies scattered across that corner of the galaxy. There was little reason to worry about security. However, Manticore was well run and well funded as colonies went. Industries were established early and grew quickly. Manticore completed her first home-built starship in 1482 and was soon trading with many of the surrounding colonies. With wealth came danger.

There was nothing resembling an interstellar government in the vicinity of Manticore. The Solarian League itself was still in its infancy and was very far away. Surplus warships were available to anyone who had the money or merchant ships could be converted. It was probably inevitable that piracy would appear.

Edward Saganami was the grandson of one of the original colonists. His father, and later Edward himself, held the title of count, but for some reason, no one in the present day ever seemed to remember that. Edward's father owned large tracts of land and off-planet holdings, but put most of his resources into Manticore's fledgling shipping industry. In 1501 Edward's father accompanied one of his merchant ships on a trading run and never returned. It was never proved what had happened, but piracy was suspected.

The young Edward, only twenty-two at the time of his father's disappearance, went before the Parliament to demand military protection, not just for his own merchant ships, but for every ship flying the Manticoran flag. Trade was not yet a major factor in the planet's economy and he was turned down. Refusing to accept the result, Saganami went to the Queen, Elizabeth I, and offered to pay for the refitting of the four decrepit frigates if they could be put on an anti-piracy patrol. The aging Elizabeth was much taken with this fiery young man. She arranged to get his proposal approved and even contributed sufficient funds of her own for the construction of a modern cruiser. Saganami became so involved with the project and the selection and training of the crews that when Elizabeth formally established the Royal Navy a few years later, she named him as its Commodore. Elizabeth died shortly afterward, but her successor, Michael I, had already become friends with Saganami and thus the Navy's future was assured.

During the next four decades Edward Saganami devoted himself totally to the Navy. It was well for Manticore that it had a man such as Saganami. The space in the vicinity of Manticore grew more dangerous year by year. Pirates preyed on shipping and then planet began to prey on planet. Manticore and her sister worlds, Sphinx and Gryphon, were never directly attacked, but it was only the existence of a strong navy that prevented it. Saganami was an able administrator, but he preferred to be on the bridge of a warship. He fought in many actions and set a standard of excellence and devotion to duty that became the model for the whole Navy.

"Stand by for braking," said Jon Seaton, startling Patric out of his thoughts. Manticore now filled the viewport and seemed to be rushing toward them. Seaton rotated the shuttle so it was belly down to the planet and then applied the thrusters. Patric was pressed down into his seat by about three gravities. A few minutes later the vessel began to rock slightly as it entered the upper atmosphere. The pressure built up even more and an orange glow could be seen through the viewport. Several long minutes passed as the vessel shed its velocity. The Chief applied some forward thrust and a moment later they broke through a layer of clouds and the vast expanse of Silver Gulf and the Southern Ocean was spread before them.

"There it is," said Seaton, pointing to a speck in the distance.

One of Saganami's most important actions was to found the Academy. It was built on an island where Edward's father had constructed an estate. Saganami recognized from the beginning that the Navy could be no better than the officers commanding the ships. He took the estate, and using his own funds, built a modest school for naval officers. During its first few years it was a private school, which was simply called Saganami Academy. The Crown soon formally adopted it. The official name was the Royal Manticoran Naval Academy, but most people still referred to it by its original name. The first class had only a dozen cadets, but the Academy had grown steadily over the years. Before this year, a typical incoming class had a thousand cadets in it, of whom perhaps six or seven hundred would graduate. Patric's class had over three thousand.

The shuttle approached the island rapidly and continued to decelerate. Seaton contacted the control tower and received his approach and landing instructions. They were forced to circle twice to lose the last of their speed and this gave Patric a fine chance to look over his new home.

About a million years earlier, the island had been a huge volcano, nearly ten kilometers in diameter. Then, as they often seem to do, it had blown itself apart and the bulk of it had collapsed into the sea. A rugged, stony ring was all that remained above the water. Millennia of erosion had worn down what was left. The southern half of the ring was mostly gone by now, although a few rocky islets could be seen here and there. The northern part, slightly less than half the ring, made up the island proper. The northern shore was mostly sheer cliff, but the land sloped gradually down to the sea on the southern side. The highest ground was to the west. The eastern part was lower and flatter. Much of the volcanic harshness of the island had been softened by lush vegetation in the semi-tropical climate.

Patric could see that most of the buildings were clustered on the high ground to the west. The flat, eastern end was given over to athletic fields, a large parade ground, and the spaceport and runways of Kreskin Field. Near the center of the island a peninsula thrust southward into the sea and formed a sheltered cove. Patric could see docks and wharves but no boats. He knew that until recently the Academy had taught sailing and seamanship, but that it had been done away with. That was fine by him; he was used to the plains and tundra of Gryphon-the thought of getting into a flimsy boat and braving that huge expanse of water did not appeal to him at all. He could also see that a lot of construction was taking place on the island. Several new buildings were going up including one huge structure that was right next to the old harbor.

"Stand by for landing," announced Jon Seaton. The shuttle floated downward, feather-light on its countergravity, toward a series of circular landing pads. Patric saw several other shuttles that had already landed. Swarms of new cadets were around them or walking away. A few moments later, a slight bump told Patric that they had landed. Seaton shut down the countergravity and the thrusters and then swiveled his seat so he could look at Patric.

"Well, lad, here you are." The twinkle had left his eye and his voice was solemn. "You're about to begin the great adventure. It's not going to be easy, but I think you have what it takes. If you ever need any help or just someone to talk to, you can find me around here." He held out his hand and Patric took it.

"Thanks, Mister Seaton," said Patric, who was quite touched. "It's like you said: you find the best friends when you least expect them."

Patric unbuckled his seat harness, grabbed his bag from the storage rack, and followed the other cadets out into the morning sunshine of Saganami Island.

**Chapter Three**

**T**he first thing that Patric noticed as he left the shuttle was the warm, humid air. It had been early spring where he lived on Gryphon when he left. That meant that it _only_ got down to ten degrees below freezing at night. It was early winter in this part of Manticore, but the planet had a milder climate than Gryphon and Saganami Island was on the edge of the tropical zone. It was not as though Patric never knew hot weather; it got very hot on Gryphon in mid-summer. But if it was like this here in winter-in the early morning, Patric did not want to know what the summer was like! He hoped the surrounding ocean would help keep the temperature down.

Before Patric could worry about the weather any further, Cadet Lathrap called them to attention.

"All right boys and girls!" she bellowed. "I'm only going to have the pleasure of commanding you for a few more minutes, but you are going to look like cadets when I dismiss you! McDermott! You're the tallest. Stand right here. Lindvig! One meter behind him. The rest of you fall in to their left. Two ranks, tallest to shortest. Twenty centimeters apart. Move!"

The new cadets shuffled around for several minutes comparing heights before they were all settled in place. Lathrap cajoled them along the whole time. Finally they were arranged to her satisfaction.

"You will count off by fours from right to left. McDermott and Lindvig are number ones. Let's see if the rest of you can count up to four. In two ranks, count fours!"

Patric and the tall youth behind him hesitated for an instant and then shouted out "One!" almost simultaneously. The people next to their left shouted "Two!" and it went down the line. The count got about two-thirds of the way to the end before someone fumbled it. Lathrap snorted in disgust and made them do it again. This time they got it right.

"When I give the command, each group of four in the front rank will wheel around to the right, swinging like a door. The number one person is the hinge. You folks in the rear rank just follow the person right in front of you. After you have wheeled ninety degrees, we all march straight ahead in a column four people wide. You got that? Okay, let's do it. Detachment! By fours, right - March!"

A marine, or even an older cadet, would have winced at the sight of them, but for total novices they did not do too badly. They ended up in a column more or less like Lathrap wanted and marching in the proper direction. Lathrap started calling off a cadence to march by. After a minute or two, they got into the rhythm and their own feet hitting the ground made a noise that was easier to stay in step with than not. Lathrap trotted up and down the column shouting encouragement. The morning was getting warmer and Patric was sweating, but somehow the steady left, right, left, right, in unison with the others, sent a small thrill through him-he was a part of it already!

Apparently Cadet Lathrap had gotten them into ranks like this on her own initiative. They caught up with, and passed, several other shuttle-loads that were just strolling along in a gaggle. The new cadets looked at Patric's group with expressions of mixed sympathy and envy. The older cadets in charge of the groups shouted something at Lathrap, but Patric did not catch the words. He glanced back and saw that at least one of the other groups was trying to get itself into a formation like theirs-Patric found himself grinning.

They marched about a kilometer and a half from the landing pads to the parade ground. In spite of the heat, Patric felt like he could march all day. The parade ground was over a kilometer square and there were a lot of people marching, walking or straggling onto it. As they left the paved road and got onto the grass, Lathrap shouted at them.

"All right! On my command, each group of fours - front and rear rank together- will swing around like doors back to the left. We want to end up like we were when we started: in two long ranks. Think you can do that?"

Without waiting to get an answer, Lathrap shouted: "By fours left, March!"

This time they did not do so well.

Several groups did not turn quickly enough and ended up stacking up behind the group in front of them. One group got confused and tried to wheel the same way they had done to begin with-to their right.

"No! No!, Your _other_ left!" shouted Lathrap. She ran up and down, chewing them out and pushing them into a semblance of a line. Patric was proud that his group of four had done it reasonably well, although he knew they had an easier time of it by being in front.

While Lathrap was getting them sorted out, Patric reflected on how ridiculous it seemed for people who were going to become naval officers aboard starships to be worrying about a close order drill that had been obsolete as a battle tactic for over two thousand years. Even so, it had felt _good._ Patric had read that close order drill was used long after the practical need for it had vanished to build a sense of discipline and solidarity in military units. He was amazed at how well it worked.

Finally, Lathrap was satisfied with their formation. She stood out in front and addressed them all. "All right boys and girls! In a few moments Cadet Detachment One-One-Nine will cease to exist. When I dismiss you, you will go and find your proper battalion and company. You should know which battalion and company you belong in-it was part of your official orders!" Patric was relieved that he did know. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a few cadets trying to get to their order sheets without attracting Lathrap's attention.

"Arrayed in front of you are the four battalions of your regiment," said Lathrap, gesturing towards the parade ground. "See the four big flags? They mark the center of each battalion. First Battalion is in front of us, Second Battalion is to the left of First Battalion, and so on. The small flags mark the right of each company and have the company letter on them."

Cadet Lathrap scowled at them. "I've given you all the instruction you need to find your spots! You are on your own now-try not to screw up! Detachment! Dis-missed!" She walked away without a backward glance.

Patric was assigned to 'C' Company in the Second Battalion. He was able to find it without much difficulty although he did have to look a bit. He walked over to the row of Second Battalion company flags. There were ten companies in each battalion and he assumed 'C' company would be the third one in from the right. It was not, but he kept walking and found that it was the fifth company, which put it right next to the battalion flag.

As Patric approached his company he saw that there were two older cadets in uniform and about a dozen newcomers already there. One of the uniformed cadets was holding the staff of the company flag. The other one looked at Patric as he came up. "You assigned to 'C' Company, mister?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," answered Patric. He knew enough not to salute when he was not in uniform.

"Well, Howard," said the cadet to his comrade with the flag, "We're not likely to get anyone taller than this one. Mister! Stand right here and hold the guidon!" They placed him where they wanted him and gave him the small flag. "Just stand right here and don't move." The flag-_ 'guidon' the cadet had called it-_was on a wooden staff about two and a half meters long with a brass point on each end. Patric stood where he had been told and felt very conspicuous.

More cadets poured onto the parade ground. There had been five or six hundred when Patric's group first arrived and several hundred more had come in the last few minutes. Looking down the road leading to the landing pads he could see more detachments headed this way. Shuttles had been landing every few minutes, but now there were no more. The rest of the incoming class would all be present very shortly.

'C' Company swelled minute by minute as the cadets found where they belonged. Patric saw several bewildered looking youths throw themselves on the mercy of some of the older cadets in order to find their spots.

Suddenly, Patric heard the sound of drums. Coming up the road from the opposite direction was a brass band. In a few moments he could see that it was the band of the Regiment of Cadets. They commenced playing some military tunes and marched back and forth across the front of the assembling battalions. They looked very smart and Patric found it quite uplifting. Some of the tunes sent a chill down his spine in spite of the heat.

Patric was good at remembering faces and one of the drummers caught his eye. He felt sure he had seen her before, but he could not imagine where. As she passed by him again he wracked his brain to try and remember where he had seen her. With a shock he realized he had seen her on HD. _She was the drummer in Honor Harrington's funeral procession! _Three months earlier, there had been a state funeral for Manticore's great war hero who had been murdered by the Peoples' Republic. Nearly every citizen of the Kingdom had probably seen the HD of the funeral procession. A chill of an entirely different kind went through Patric and his hand tightened on the staff of the guidon.

By this time, the last of the incoming cadets had arrived and there were about seventy-five of them clustered around each guidon. The two uniformed cadets who had been joking with each other near Patric were now, suddenly, all business.

"Attention! 'C' Company, Second Battalion, attention!" shouted the one who had first addressed Patric. "Fall in on the guidon! Two ranks, tallest to shortest!"

Some of the new cadets had already gone through this procedure and in a reasonably short time the company was formed and counted off by fours the way they wanted it. The roll was called and their names checked off on a com-pad. The other companies were doing the same. Patric's height allowed him to see what was going on and he was impressed. Three thousand new cadets with several hundred older cadets supervising them made an impressive sight. Even without uniforms, the long ranks, the flags flying in the strengthening breeze and the band playing presented a martial spectacle.

"All right, listen up!" said the cadet. "I am Cadet-Sergeant William David. I am your company commander. This is Cadet-Corporal Howard Mattingly, he is second in command. You shall address us as 'sir'! Once you are in uniform you will salute when addressing us! Is that clear?"

There came a mumbled chorus of 'yes sirs' from 'C' Company. Patric recalled Jon Seaton's warning that the Navy was not like what you saw on HD, but Patric had seen enough HD to know exactly what was coming next and he had to suppress a grin.

"What was that? I can't hear you!" shouted Cadet-Sergeant David.

"Yes, Sir!" shouted back the cadets. This same scene was being repeated all across the parade ground.

"Better," admitted David. "Cadet-Corporal Mattingly and myself are Third Form Cadets. We will be in charge of this company for approximately six months or until the Powers-That-Be decide you rate your own company officers. You will find that I am a reasonable man as long as you cooperate. Believe me, people, you do _not_ want to give me any reason to become _un_reasonable!" Although Patric was probably the same age as David and outmassed him by fifty percent, he found himself sincerely believing the Cadet-Sergeant.

"Company! Attention to orders!" continued David. "In a few minutes you will be addressed by the Commandant. After that, you will be assigned to your quarters. In the meantime, you can rest in place. That means relax, you can talk in ranks, but don't move from your spot."

Patric tried to relax as he had been told, but he felt incredibly keyed-up. He exchanged friendly nods with the cadets around him, but no one seemed in a talkative mood. Patric found himself staring at the black chevrons on the gray sleeve of Cadet-Sergeant David's uniform tunic. It always seemed a bit odd to him that naval cadets should be organized and given ranks like army or marine personnel. Part of it was traditional, of course. Until recently Marine cadet officers trained at the Academy, too. And it made a certain amount of sense: If the cadets were going to learn close order drill and march and parade like army troops, they might as well be organized like them-certainly the Navy had no corresponding organization. The rank structure went along with that and it helped prevent confusion with commissioned naval officers. Patric wondered if he would ever earn any chevrons for his sleeves.

A few minutes later there was a stir among some of the uniformed cadets. The band stopped its marching about and came to a halt off to Patric's left. A ground car approached the parade ground and stopped near a raised platform by where the band had halted. The doors opened and several officers in the black uniforms of the Royal Navy got out. Patric was about a hundred and fifty meters away so he could not see a great deal. A cadet walked out in front of the platform and shouted:

"Attention - Battalions!" Patric straightened up and tried to look sharp. Cadet-Corporal Mattingly came and stood to Patric's right and relieved him of the company guidon. Cadet-Sergeant David placed himself several paces in front of the center of the company. Now Patric could see half a dozen officers approaching the platform, in their midst was another officer in a powerchair. _That must be Commandant Thayer,_ thought Patric, _I read that she couldn't walk. _A ramp led up to the platform and the Commandant rolled smoothly up it and came to a halt facing the assembled cadets.

"Incoming cadets of Class Three-hundred and forty-two, I bid you welcome," said the woman. Her voice was carried clearly to every part of the field by a sophisticated sound system. "I am Rear Admiral Sylvia Thayer. As Commandant, I welcome you to the Royal Manticoran Naval Academy, I welcome you to Saganami Island, and I welcome you to this most special fellowship."

"Each and every one of you is a volunteer. Each one of you has worked hard to earn the right to stand on this field. Each of you is prepared to make sacrifices-even the ultimate sacrifice-to fulfill the duties you have freely accepted. For this you have my thanks. Our nation is going through a great trial. More is demanded from each of us than ever before. The path ahead of you has never been an easy one, now it is more demanding yet. You will face many challenges here, each greater than the one before it. At times you will think us harsh, even cruel, but sadly there is no other way. The stakes are far too high, the cost of failure far too great, for any but the best prepared and the most dedicated people to become the officers who shall one day lead us to victory."

Patric felt like he was swelling up. He had been proud that he finally made it into the Academy, but never so proud as right now. It was just dawning on him what he was becoming a part of-he thought he had known, but he realized now that it was more than he had ever suspected.

"We shall demand much of you," Thayer continued, "but you shall receive much in return. The Academy has a reputation for being one of the finest institutions of its kind in the galaxy. When you leave this place you will do so with the knowledge that you are prepared to meet the even greater challenges of active service. You will leave knowing that you can match anything fate or the enemy can send against you. You will leave knowing that you are a part of a band of brothers and sisters whose like has rarely been seen in human history. Today you are taking the first step of a great journey. I wish you good luck and Godspeed."

The Commandant finished and there was silence across the parade ground. Each person was deep in his or her own thoughts. Even the older cadets seemed moved by Thayer's words. After a few moments another officer came to the front of the platform.

"At this time the First Battalion will proceed to the New Cadet Dormitory," he said. "To avoid congestion, the other battalions will leave here at half hour intervals. While you are waiting, the company commanders are directed to give their commands instruction in the marching drill. That is all, carry out your orders."

The Commandant and her officers returned to the ground car and departed. First Battalion marched off with only a small amount of confusion. Patric's company spent the next thirty minutes doing some simple drill maneuvers. Patric found that he really enjoyed it-it made him feel special somehow. A shouted command from a cadet who Patric realized must be either his battalion commander, or someone nearly as high ranking, reassembled the battalion and they were soon on the road leading to the dormitory.

The New Cadet Dormitory was the huge structure on the edge of the harbor that Patric had noticed when they were landing. They had to march a little over a kilometer around the harbor to get to it. The sun was higher now and Patric was sweating freely from the drill and the marching. Still, he was feeling very good and self-satisfied-except that he was getting hungry. Breakfast had not been nearly big enough and he was burning up a lot of calories. _Jon Seaton said we would be given plenty to eat-I hope it's soon._

The Dormitory was built on huge pilings that rose out of the water. The northern section of the building was complete, but the sections to the south were still under construction. They were surrounded by piles of construction materials and swarms of workers and robots. Several causeways led from the shore to the building. The head of the long column of Second Battalion crossed one causeway and then halted. Patric could see the first company enter through the large doors, but the rest of them stayed where they were. Cadet-Sergeant David informed them that they would enter at intervals every few minutes. Patric stood there sweating and listening to his stomach growl until it was 'C' Company's turn.

While they waited, Patric thought about how different some of what had happened today was from the things he had read and seen on HD. There were none of the clichés about physical exams and haircuts and being issued uniforms that did not fit. Under the new program of instruction, there was no time for any of that. All the physicals and examinations were done long before any new cadet reached Saganami Island. Any one who did not measure up never got here to begin with. Patric's hair was already cut to regulation length and he knew that a set of uniforms to fit his precise measurements was already waiting for him in his quarters. Indeed Patric knew a great deal about what was ahead. The official notification that he had been accepted to the Academy had been accompanied by a set of instructions. He was given access to part of the Academy computer network (Gryphon subsystem) and he was expected to familiarize himself with the Academy regulations and a great deal of other information. In the six weeks between his acceptance and his departure he had crammed all that information into his head and more besides. He had even gotten a head start on some of his classwork-he knew he was going to need that.

Patric looked behind him at the rest of 'C' Company. The grouping had not been picked randomly. Some mix of computer and human logic had decided that these young men and women could function better together than any other grouping. There would be three other cadets assigned as his roommates who had also been carefully picked, he wondered who they would be.

Eventually, it was their turn and they marched into the structure that would be their home for the next thirty-five months. It was very new, very clean, and rather boring as buildings went, but its sheer size impressed Patric. The cities on Gryphon were small and did not go in for mega-structures like this one. Even though Patric had just left a structure vastly larger, he did not equate a space station with a building people lived in. They were shown the mess halls-which unfortunately from Patric's viewpoint they did not make use of-and recreation facilities on the ground floor. A bank of lifts took them up to the fourth floor. They had the laundry and study facilities pointed out to them and then they were assigned their rooms.

Cadet-Sergeant David consulted his com-pad and called out four names and directed them to Room 400. Somewhat to his surprise, Patric was in the next group.

"Hinsworth! McDermott! Payne! Zilwicki! Room Four-Oh-One!" said David, loudly. Patric grabbed up his bag and started down the hall. Two girls and a smallish boy followed him. He found the room, opened the door, which was unlocked, and went in. The other three followed.

He found himself in a comfortable common room that had a table, a sofa and several chairs. Opening off of it was the bathroom and the four bedrooms. There was a name on each door and he stuck his head into the room that had his name. Inside was a very ordinary bedroom with a bed, desk and chair, dresser, and closet. The window had a spectacular view of the harbor. The computer terminal on his desk was on and it had the blinking icon that indicated a message was waiting for him. He was tempted to sit down and see what it was, but he knew he should meet his roommates first. He tossed his bag on the bed and returned to the common room. His roommates had just done the same thing and all of them stood and stared at each other.

One of the girls was a skinny blonde who looked disturbingly like Patric's younger sister at first glance. A closer look showed that the resemblance was only superficial. The girl had that pre-puberty look that the Prolong treatment gave, but Patric realized that she was 'wiry' rather than skinny. Some solid muscles could be seen under her tight jumpsuit. She wore her hair very short and she had a face that would have been pretty if she put a smile on it. Her most distinctive features were her large eyes that were such a pale blue that they seemed gray.

The boy was so short that he looked like he must be only nine or ten years old. He had a shock of unruly red hair and his face was covered with freckles. The corner of his mouth was twisted up in a strange sort of grin and his eyes had a twinkle of mischief in them. His expression, along with a very expensive set of clothes, hinted to Patric that he was probably of noble birth.

The other girl was just plain beautiful. She was taller than the other two and looked much older. In fact, she looked older than Patric. There was little of the adolescent look that most girls Patric's age had; this was a grown woman. Her clothes did not reveal much but she seemed to have a nice figure. Her face was very pretty and had a tasteful bit of makeup on it. Her long brown hair was tied in an elaborate set of braids that held it close to her head-and thus met regulations. She had lovely green eyes that were looking right into Patric's.

"Hi," said Patric. He suddenly realized he was staring and shook himself. "Hi," he repeated awkwardly, "I'm Patric McDermott."

"All right, break it up you two!" said the boy whose small grin had now become a big one. "Academy Regulation one-ninety-three, paragraph two, quote: No hanky-panky between First Form cadets, unquote."

Patric found himself blushing and suppressing an urge to reach out and throttle the little twerp. The girl blushed even more fiercely, but she laughed with a sweet musical voice. She smiled at Patric and he was suddenly smiling back.

"I'm Andreanne Payne, but please call me Anny," she said. There was a trace of an accent in her voice that Patric could not place.

"Pleased to meet you, Anny," said Patric. He looked at the boy and quirked his eyebrow.

"Hinsworth, Alby Hinsworth," he said. "You will find, if you check the official records, that my given name is 'Albustus', but I would prefer you to forget that as soon as possible. 'Alby' will do just fine, thank you very much."

The three of them turned to the blonde girl. She simply said: "Helen. I'm pleased to meet you all." A bell seemed to ring in the back of Patric's head, but he was not sure why. After a few moments of silence, he said:

"I'm from Gryphon, in case you had not guessed."

Anny looked a little uncomfortable. "I have lived here on Manticore for nearly ten years, but I am originally from Grayson."

"Grayson!" blurted Patric. "But, but…you're a...a..."

"Woman," supplied Alby. "I thought you had already noticed that detail, Patric."

Patric and Anny were blushing again. He wondered how this kid, literally half his size, was managing to get him so flustered?

"Yes, as Alby says, I am a woman, and I am from Grayson," said Anny Payne and her accent was much more noticeable now. Her eyes were flicking between the three of them. She was still smiling, but there was an uneasiness in her face. "I hope that is not a problem."

"Well, if you don't have a problem with it, we certainly don't," said Alby who stepped forward and offered Anny his hand. She took it and looked at Alby gratefully. Patric, determined not to be outdone by Alby, also came forward with his hand outstretched.

"Forgive me, Anny," he said shyly. "I was taken by surprise. You are very welcome here." Anny smiled more broadly and took his hand in turn; her hand was warm and soft.

"No need to apologize, Patric," she said. "I have been getting similar reactions from a lot of people lately." She turned to Alby. "Lord Hinsworth, you obviously do not remember me, but I believe we have met before."

Now it was Alby's turn to be flustered. "Uh, I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Anny."

"It was five or six years ago; I am not surprised you do not remember. My father is the deputy consul at the Grayson Embassy. We were at some state function, I do not remember what it was now, but you were there with your family and we were introduced. I trust your grandmother is well?"

"Er, yes. Admiral Givens was very well the last time I saw her." Patric and Helen stared at Alby, who was obviously not used to having a social situation slip out of his control like this. He stammered for a moment and then changed the subject. He turned to Helen.

"Obviously, I am from Manticore, how about you, Helen?"

"I'm from Manticore, but I've lived a few other places as well," she answered. The bell in Patric's head suddenly rang louder.

"Helen Zilwicki," he said, "any relation to..."

"Yes," said Helen cutting him off. "She was my mother." She turned and walked into her room without another word. The other three just stared after her.

**Chapter Four**

**A**fter that, it was just a hell of a lot of work.

Patric was no stranger to hard work. He had helped his father run the farm on Gryphon, he had attended school, and he had prepared for the Academy exams all at the same time. But the pace had been nothing like this. The Manticoran day was only a few minutes shorter than the one on Gryphon, but it seemed like he had to fit twice as much work into much less time.

In fact, the Academy did not make use of either Manticore's or Gryphon's clock when scheduling its 'day'. From the beginnings of interplanetary travel, mankind had used the twenty-four hour clock of Old Earth for time keeping aboard ship. Since any system would have been completely arbitrary anyway, it made sense to use the one humanity had evolved with. The Royal Navy used a twenty-four hour day divided into six, four-hour 'watches'. There was a standard 'zero-hour' that computers kept coordinated with the moment of midnight in the ruins of a small town, on a small island, on a planet few Manticorans had ever visited.

The Academy's 'day' followed exactly that of the Royal Navy. Since Manticore's day was more than an hour and thirty minutes shorter than the Navy's day, concepts like 'morning', 'afternoon', and 'evening', and even 'day' and 'night' lost meaning for the cadets. From time to time, the Navy's day coordinated fairly well with Manticore's day, but the Academy worked on a twenty-four hour a day schedule so even those times made little difference. The only exception to this was Sunday morning. Whichever watch corresponded most nearly with Manticore's Sunday morning was given over to close order drill and a review by the Commandant.

The cadets' schedules followed closely what they would encounter on shipboard. Two watches each day they were attending classes, running simulations or participating in other supervised activity. In theory that left the other sixteen hours each day free. In reality, most of those remaining hours were spent in study, doing assignments, extra duties and the mechanics of staying alive. If a cadet could squeeze in six hours of sleep he was considered lucky. Fortunately, there was no actual need for more sleep than that. Medical science had long ago devised drugs that could substitute for a few hours sleep each day, over long periods, with no ill effects-the cadets made full use of them.

Even so, it was impossible to work continuously. Sunday afternoons and evenings were left as free time for the cadets. Most of them ended up using some of that time for work and study anyway, but even a short break was very welcome.

There was no gradual easing-in to the routine. The cadets were expected to hit the ground running and Patric found himself running like mad to stay on top of the work from his second day on Saganami Island. He was familiar with the old forty-five month curriculum from his earlier attempts to get into the Academy. That would have started them out with a number of general education courses leavened with a few technical courses plus basic equipment training. The new curriculum threw everything at them at once. The idea was that they would start learning all the different skills they would need immediately. Rather than take a course in one form and then forget it in the next, they would have basically the same courses every form, they would just get harder.

Patric found it daunting. He had to learn Tactics, Strategy, Military History, Logistics, N-Space and H-Space Astrogation, Gunnery, Computers, Sensors, Electronic Counter-Measures, Ship Handling, Damage Control, Leadership, Morale, Combat Psychology, Small Craft Handling, Extra-Vehicular Activity, Staff Work Procedures, and a host of others. Even the much-reduced Engineering program had him learning about fusion plants, radiation shielding, impeller drives, hyper drives and the Warshawski sails. The cramming he had done before arrival allowed him to keep up for a while, but he felt like that huge boulder hanging over him was coming nearer and nearer. He read until his eyes burned and got less and less sleep.

But it was not all drudgery. Some of it was even fun. He liked the Zero-G training in particular. Countergravity technology allowed the construction of completely realistic training facilities that were safely on the ground. In them the cadets could learn to handle themselves and equipment in free-fall. Patric proved particularly adept at working with tools and making repairs in Zero-G. At first they worked in shirtsleeves. Later, they received their skinsuits and worked like they were in vacuum even though they were not. Finally, the training areas had the air evacuated and they did it in vacuum for real.

Patric also found the tactical simulators fascinating. The Academy had dozens of these simulators and was building many more. They were duplicates of a warship's bridge where the cadets could train. Elaborate computer simulations presented the cadets with conditions they might face in real service. At first they were used to familiarize the cadets with bridge routine and other non-combat operations. Later the cadets found themselves in simulated combat. Patric-and most of the other cadets-had played computer games before they came to the Academy that were like the simulators, but much simpler. The Academy's simulators were extremely realistic, down to the point of being able to shake the cadets around when their ship was 'hit' by enemy fire. Patric was pleased that they were given simulator instruction so soon after arrival, but he quickly found that it was a lot harder than his games back home.

Learning to pilot small craft was fun, too. He was delighted to find that his friend, Jon Seaton, did some of the instructing. Patric was not a great pilot, but he did well enough. Patric also enjoyed the close order drill. Because his size put him at the end of the line, he was made a temporary corporal in the company. The first time the whole regiment passed in review for the Commandant, Patric thought he was going to burst with pride. His size also meant that he was persuaded to 'volunteer' for the rugby team. Patric had never cared much for sports and really could not spare the time, but somehow he found himself on the team.

Patric was happy that another HD cliché about the Academy was not true. There was very little 'hazing' of the new cadets by the older ones. A talk with Jon Seaton confirmed that such things had happened in the past, but it was rare now. Patric had heard some of the cadets in his company tell of being accosted by upperclassmen but so far it had not happened to him. Part of that was because of a greater sense of solidarity among the cadets due to the war. Another reason was the fact that this new batch of 'plebes' outnumbered the combined upper classes by nearly two-to-one: there just were not enough bullies to go around. Probably the biggest reason for the lack of hazing was the physical segregation of their living quarters. All of the new cadets were housed in the New Cadet Dormitory, which was over a kilometer away from the old residence halls. When the last graduating class had left, their dorms were taken over for faculty and administration offices. When the current Fourth Form class graduated, the same thing would happen and the new incoming class would live in another section of the New Dorm which—hopefully-would be completed by then. Right now, the only upperclassmen who had routine contact with them were their company officers.

Patric knew he was lucky to have the officers he did. Cadet-Sergeant David and Cadet-Corporal Mattingly were both pretty good guys. There were some company officers that did make life difficult for their charges, but David and Mattingly were not like that. David did not hesitate to chew your head off if you did something stupid, but he could be friendly and helpful too. Although David and Mattingly lived on Patric's floor, the only time he saw them was during the Sunday drill and review and during the weekly inspection of quarters.

The First Form cadets were expected to take care of their own laundry and make certain their quarters were neat and orderly. When they reached Second Form, they would be provided with a civilian servant who would take care of those chores. This was not a luxury-the Powers-That-Be did not want the cadets wasting time on such activities once they had proved they could do them properly. The Academy had more important ways for the cadets to spend their time!

On the whole, Cadet life in the Dormitory was enjoyable. As Jon Seaton had predicted, the food was plentiful and Patric made the time to eat it. Patric got along well with his roommates and made some other friends in his company, too. Helen Zilwicki had been friendly enough after that first day, although she always seemed rather distant. Patric and the others never mentioned Helen's mother again and warned the other cadets to avoid the subject, too. Nevertheless, it was impossible not to notice the anger Helen seemed to hold inside her. During off duty bull sessions she would sometimes express opinions that were shockingly ruthless when they concerned the Peoples' Republic. When news of an Alliance victory was received, her chief interest was in how many Peeps had been killed. Patric found her intensity rather frightening.

Alby Hinsworth was puzzling too. Patric had never known anyone from the nobility, and certainly not one who was a grandson of the Second Space Lord. For some reason, Alby seemed as reluctant to discuss his famous grandmother as Helen was to discuss her famous mother. Another strange thing was that Alby avoided the other cadets from noble families. Most of those cadets tended to form their own little cliques and it was odd that Alby deliberately shunned them. Alby could be arrogant and irritating, but he was also very funny and somehow managed to defuse any anger his rude comments might generate. Bit by bit, Patric came to like the little twerp although he could never match Alby in a battle of wits, and was often made to look like a buffoon. The only one who could really handle Alby was Anny Payne.

Anny could wrap Patric and Alby around her little finger anytime she wanted-but she never did. Anny was as genuinely nice a person as Patric had ever met. She always had a friendly word and a smile for everyone-Patric liked her a lot. In fact, he realized he probably liked her too much. He told himself that he must be crazy to consider falling in love at a time like this-it was just a passing infatuation. He was falling behind in his studies and a romance would just make it worse. Besides, Anny had told them about the political ramifications of her presence at the Academy-he had no business getting mixed up in something like that! He even reminded himself that Anny's mature looks were because she was only a first generation Prolong recipient. Ninety years from now Anny would be a wizened old crone-if she was not already in her grave-while Patric would be nearly as young and strong as he was right now. Yes he had lots of good reasons not to fall in love, but it was hard to listen to any of them.

And he was not the only one who was halfway in love with Anny Payne. Most of the male cadets in his company-and a few from other companies, too-seemed smitten by Anny. The 'repressive' nature of her upbringing and her heroic attempt to 'liberate' Grayson's women made her an object of sympathy-and desire. Apparently, some long repressed male gallantry gene was being brought to the fore. Almost from the start they had hopeful males hanging around their rooms during off-hours.

Two months after they had arrived on Saganami Island Anny got a large package from her parents. It was a peculiar stringed musical instrument from Grayson that Anny called a "geetar". Patric had never seen anything like it: It was made of real wood and had no electronic parts at all. Anny could play it and sing like a dream. After that, she was more popular than ever and she would be persuaded to perform at all hours.

Fortunately, Anny's 'repressive' upbringing had taught her how to handle men. She was able to deflect unwanted amorous attention without hurting feelings. Patric was glad of that. He did not know how he would react if Anny started returning someone else's affections. Fortunately, he did not have to find out. To deal with his own feelings, he transformed his affection for her from romantic to brotherly. He became her secret guardian. Watching over her, and in his imagination keeping her from harm.

Which made the infamous "Shower Incident" all the more embarrassing.

One day, in the third month after their arrival, Patric came back to his room after class; no one else was there. He wanted to get a quick shower and get to work studying-as usual, he was falling behind again. He peeled off his clothes, threw them in the laundry basket, and went into the bathroom. He took his shower and just as he turned off the water he heard the door open in the common room and he could hear the voices of his roommates. Not wanting to hog the bathroom, he grabbed a towel and walked back to his room.

"Hi, guys," he said as he walked past them, drying his hair. Anny seemed to shrink away from him against the wall, but he assumed it was because he was still dripping wet and she did not want to get splashed. "Hi, Anny," he said as he passed.

About a half-hour later there was a knock on his door. By then he was glad for any distraction from the incredibly boring critical comparison of Jomini, Clausewitz and Anderman that he was reading for Captain Delbruck's class.

"Come on in," he said. Helen and Alby came in and closed the door behind them. Both of them had very strange expressions on their faces.

"What's up?" asked Patric.

"Ur.. uh... Patric?" said Helen.

"Yeah?" said Patric.

"Did you... uh... notice anything just now?"

"Notice what?"

"Notice Anny," said Helen who was starting to blush.

"What about her?" asked Patric who had no clue what was going on.

"Patric! Helen and I just peeled Anny off the wall!" blurted Alby.

"What! Why? Where is she? Is she okay?" said Patric, now totally confused.

"I guess she's okay," said Helen. "She's in her room with the door shut. Patric, what do you know about the customs of Grayson?"

"The same things that everybody knows, I suppose. Lots more women than men, but the men run things. Highly religious. Lots of customs that seem a little strange to us, that sort of thing-why? What's going on?"

Helen nodded her head. "Yeah, that was about all I really knew. Patric, you've seen me naked haven't you?"

Patric was startled by this seeming change of topic. "I guess I have, yes, sure-in the gymnasium locker room..."

"And here too, if I recall," interrupted Helen. "You've seem Alby naked too. And we've certainly seen you naked. Have you ever seen Anny naked?"

"Uh, ... no... I don't think so." said Patric.

"You'd certainly remember if you had," said Alby with a smirk.

"Alby!" chided Helen. "This is nothing to joke about."

"That's your opinion, I think it's quite amusing," quipped Alby.

"Think what's amusing?" said Patric, who was starting to get annoyed.

"Patric, you scared Anny right out of her skin with all your skin!" said Alby, trying hard not to smile.

"What!?"

"I just did a little quick research on my terminal," said Helen, "and it seems that public nudity just isn't done on Grayson."

"It's not?" asked Patric blankly.

"No, apparently nudity is strictly a husband and wife sort of thing and is inextricably associated with sex," said Helen.

"Sex?" said Patric in surprise. He suddenly blanched. "You mean Anny thought I wanted to..."

"No! I don't think so, Patric," said Helen hastily. "Anny's lived here for ten years, she has to know about our different attitudes. I mean on Grayson the _restrooms_ are segregated by sex, for goodness sake! She has to know we don't do things that way here!"

Patric relaxed a little but was still upset. "Wow, I had no idea. I guess I should go apologize to her."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," said Helen, frowning. "I think you just took her by surprise when you came out of the bathroom like that. She actually seemed more upset that Alby and I saw how startled she was. She has been trying so hard _not_ to be different, I think she was embarrassed to let herself slip so badly. It might be better to just pretend that nothing happened-and try not to let it happen again!"

So they did try, and for the most part were successful, but Patric could not look Anny in the face for a week.

**Chapter Five**

**T**hey're coming in again, sir!" shouted the Tactical Officer.

"Helm, come port to three-three-five," said Patric, trying to keep the tension out of his voice. "Tactical, deploy another decoy and standby on point defense."

The bridge shook, and the Damage Control Officer looked frantically at her board. "Hit on Beta Node Four," she cried, "acceleration is down eight percent!"

"Acknowledged," said Patric. He looked at the tactical display. The two Peep light cruisers had hurt him far worse than they should have been able to. They were operating separately, so he should have been able to bring the greater firepower of his heavy cruiser to bear on one of them and destroy them in detail.

So far, it had not worked out that way. They were faster and more maneuverable and were coordinating their movements skillfully. Every time he tried to close on one of them, it would fall back and the other would try to slip around for a shot up his unprotected stern. He had scored some hits on the enemy, but they did not appear to have done any significant damage.

The ship shook again as another Peep missile got through their defenses.

"Graser two is gone!" reported Damage Control. The uneven duel had been going on for nearly an hour. Patric knew they had to do something soon, or his ship would be pounded to junk. He looked at the tactical display again. He drew in a few vectors on the small repeater by his command chair. _There! Maybe this will work!_

"Helm, bring us to heading two-two-eight, mark fourteen. Maximum acceleration. Tactical, throw everything against Target One, rapid fire on all tubes."

"Aye aye, sir," answered both officers in unison.

Several minutes passed and Target One fell back as Patric had expected. The other Peep ship was coming in on his stern again, but he was coming in a little too fast...

"Helm! Bring us around! Course one-one-three! Tactical switch fire to Target Two!"

Patric's ship lashed out at the Peep that had been dogging them. _Yes! He isn't retreating fast enough! Maybe we can finish him now!_ It looked good, several missiles got through to the Peep and his acceleration dropped noticeably.

"Pour it into him, 'Guns'!" said Patric to the Tactical Officer.

Several more hits were scored and Patric started to think his plan had worked. Suddenly the Sensor Officer called out:

"Sir! Look at Target One!"

Patric looked at the tactical display and his face turned white. "Helm! Hard to port! Roll ship ninety degrees!"

But it was too late. The other Peep had also reversed course and fired a missile salvo against the unshielded "kilt" of Patric's ship. Before he could turn to interpose his wedge or sidewalls, the bomb-pumped lasers of the Peep's missiles tore into the rear hammerhead. The bridge shook violently.

"Hit on Impeller Two!" shouted Damage Control. "Wedge strength is at thirty-four percent! Port sidewall is down!"

Patric looked frantically at his display, he had to do something! Then the ship shook again and all the displays went blank.

The lights in the bridge went to their normal level. Some of the cadets around Patric got up and stretched, others sat there and cursed.

"Sorry, guys," said Patric, "that was my fault."

"No it wasn't, Patric," denied Fran Daily at the sensor station, "I should have warned you about the Peep sooner."

"And you had to do something, Pat," added Wayne Todd at Tac, "they were eating us for lunch as it was."

"Maybe, but it's the captain's responsibility..."

"Indeed it is, Mr. McDermott," said another voice. Patric swiveled his chair around and saw Lieutenant Coppeé entering the simulator. "If you learned that much, then this lesson had some value."

Their instructor stood and stared at them for a few seconds and then shook his head. "A Royal Navy heavy cruiser should _not_ have to worry about a pair of Peep light cruisers, ladies and gentlemen. You had more weapons, bigger magazines, tougher sidewalls, heavier armor, and a host of other advantages. All they had was an edge in speed and maneuverability. You played right into their hands, Mr. McDermott. You played the bull to their matador. Patience would have served you better than trying reckless charges against a more nimble foe. I realize that you have only been here four months and I really should not expect much more, but you must learn these lessons."

"What should I have done, sir?" asked Patric, his face blushing red.

"An excellent question!" said Coppeé. "But you are going to have to earn the answer. I want all of you to write an after action report on this exercise, with your recommendation for an alternate set of tactics. Have them to me before we next meet. I will give you one hint, Mr. McDermott: The last time I checked my geometry text, three points defined a plane. It should not be possible for only two enemies to get a kilt shot on an alert commander. That is all for now, dismissed."

It had not been a good day.

First, he had overslept and been late to his math class. Then he had lost one of Her Majesty's heavy cruisers in the simulator.

And the worst was yet to come.

He had received orders to report to Lt. Russell Moyen, his advisor, after his Tactics class. Patric was certain what the Lieutenant wanted to see him about: his grades. In spite of all his efforts, in spite of cutting his sleep to four hours a day, his grades continued to fall. Even the classes he did well in were suffering as he was forced to put more and more effort into the courses he was having trouble with. He did not know what to do. The boulder hanging overhead was starting to crush him.

The early destruction of his cruiser in the simulator had released him from the Tactics class ahead of schedule so he had plenty of time to fret while waiting outside Moyen's office. He worked himself into a panic, calmed down, and then sank into gloom. His dream was slipping away and he felt helpless to stop it.

By the time he was let into Lt. Moyen's office he felt like hell and must have looked like it too.

"Ah, McDermott," said the officer, "sit down. No need to look so grim, son, I'm not going to stuff you out the airlock-at least not today!"

Moyen stared at Patric for a moment. "From the look on your face, I imagine you know why I've called you here."

"Yes, sir, my grades," said Patric in resignation.

"Yes, your grades. Frankly, son, they stink."

"I know, sir. I'm sorry, sir," said Patric. He thought of a thousand excuses he could produce, but he felt sure Lt. Moyen would not be interested in any of them.

Perhaps Moyen was expecting Patric to produce those excuses. When he did not, the Lieutenant's expression softened. "Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration. Only some of your grades stink."

"Unfortunately, 'some' is still far too many. Mathematics, Astrogation, Computer Science, and Tactics are all far below acceptable. Military History is also teetering on the edge and frankly, so are you, Patric."

"I know, sir," said Patric again.

"If it was a matter of you goofing off, I'd have you out of here this day. But the record-and those dark circles under your eyes-speak for themselves. You are working yourself to death but it still isn't helping, is that right?"

"I guess it is, sir."

Moyen leaned back in his chair and looked at Patric for a few moments. "It's a hard grind, son, it's supposed to be. We make it hard in order to separate out those that really have it from those who only seem to have it." Moyen saw Patric's darkening expression. "I'm not saying that you don't have what it takes, Patric, but you are going to have to prove that you do."

The officer picked up his compad and studied it for a few seconds. "Clearly, we need to bring up the marks in those subjects I mentioned. Just as clearly it is not a matter of putting in more time-you've run out of hours in the day as it is. What you need is help, Patric."

"Yes, sir," said Patric. The fact that he was not getting his head chewed off was raising his spirits a little.

"Unfortunately, that is a problem in itself," continued Moyen. "Except in special cases, the Academy has never had the extra staff to provide tutoring for the cadets. We have always relied on upperclassmen to help the younger cadets. However, with the huge size of your class, there just are not enough upperclassmen to go around. Obviously, only some of them have the talent to act as tutors and they have their own duties as well. Those tutors we have are already booked solid. That problem will take care of itself as your class progresses through the forms, but right now you are out of luck as far as the upper classes go."

Patric nodded his head and said nothing.

"But not completely out of luck. There is a lot of talent within your own form, Patric. Some of them can help you. I will send you a list of cadets that are doing exceptionally well in your weak areas. I can't guarantee they will be able-or willing-to help you. Being able to do something does not guarantee a person can teach it to others, but I think it is your only option if you want to remain here."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," said Patric.

Moyen rubbed his chin. "There _is_ another possibility. I'm not suggesting you do this, Patric, but I want you to keep it in mind."

"Sir?"

"Your best grades have been in the engineering subjects. You are aware of the engineering schools that have been established?"

"Yes, sir," answered Patric. He was well aware of them. They had been established about the time he took his last entrance exam. He had made up his mind to apply to one of them if he failed the Academy exams again. He looked at Lt. Moyen with an expression of mixed hope and dread.

"You are more than qualified for them, Patric. I could get you transferred to one of them without a problem. In six months you could have your commission and be an ensign on active duty. It might not be what you had hoped for, but it's still the same navy-and the same war."

Patric was sorely tempted. But to leave the Academy! After all the work to get here! He would still be in the Navy, still be an officer if he transferred, but...

Moyen was reading his expression. "This isn't a decision you have to make right now, Patric, but think it over. You have a lot of fine qualities, it would be a shame for the Navy to lose you entirely."

"But you don't have much time, Patric," continued his advisor. "You know what happens in another two months, don't you?"

Patric hesitated for an instant. "The Oath Taking, sir?"

"Yes, in two months the Queen will be coming here to receive the formal oaths of allegiance from your class. We have always delayed the Oath Taking for the incoming class to allow us to weed out those who do not have what it takes. A typical class loses from a quarter to a third of its numbers before graduation and more than half of those who drop out leave in the first six months. Rather than have people take the oath and then leave later, we delay taking the oath. Patric, I can't let you take the oath with your grades like this."

Patric swallowed and nodded his head. "I understand, sir."

"Right now you have three options," said Moyen. "You can get the help you need and get your grades up where they belong, you can transfer to the engineering schools, or you can quit and go home." Patric frowned at the suggestion of going home.

"Actually, there is a fourth option, which is to do nothing and stay on your present course. That is not a good option, Patric! If you take that option, then I will have you back in here in less than two months and you will find that your options have dropped to two: Transfer or go home. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, sir, I think I do."

"Very well, I'll send that list to you and if there is anything else I can do for you, feel free to contact me. Good luck, Mr. McDermott."

Patric stood up and saluted. "Thank you, sir."

He left Stauffer Hall, where Lt. Moyen had his office, and started towards the Cadet Dormitory. He felt a little better. The option of staying in the Navy as an engineering officer beat getting hit in the face with a wet pseudo-halibut any day of the week.

But was it really what he wanted?

This was one of those days where the Navy day coincided fairly well with Manticore's day. It was late afternoon; the sun was sinking towards the horizon and shining in Patric's face. He found himself walking past the turn-off that led to the dormitory and continuing on, toward Kreskin Field. He passed a detachment of older cadets who were crawling over a pair of _Javelin_ Advanced Trainers. Patric had not had a chance to fly one of those yet-_and maybe I never will_-he thought glumly.

He walked over to the small-craft hangers. There were a number of them, but he was looking for one in particular. Eventually he saw a gray-haired man in a pair of dirty coveralls working on a small shuttle. Patric came up behind him and watched for a while.

"Hi, Chief," he said at last.

The man turned around. "Well! Well! It's Cadet McDermott! Finally pried his nose out of those books long enough to come visit an old man!"

"You're not so old, Jon," said Patric quietly.

"Old enough," said Jon Seaton with a grin. "But I'm glad to see you, lad. I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me."

"I'll never forget you, Jon."

Seaton looked at Patric for a moment. "Come in to my office, I'll get you some coffee."

They walked over to a small pre-fabricated office inside the cavernous hanger. Seaton poured two cups of coffee and offered one to Patric. They sat down on a pair of worn chairs. Seaton continued to stare at Patric.

"Well, out with!" he said finally. "You look like ten light years of grav-turbulence! What's the problem, young Patric?"

So Patric told him. By the time he finished, the sun had vanished into the ocean and the lights around the field were blazing. The two men sat in silence for several minutes.

"It's a cruel thing, Patric. They take in these boys and girls. Work them near to death and then tell them they don't measure up. A cruel thing."

"But they have to, Jon," said Patric. "They can't let incompetent officers graduate! Think what that would do to the Fleet!"

Jon Seaton quirked an eyebrow and gave a faint smile. "You're right, lad, it's good to see you realize that. But it is still hard-and incompetents slip through just the same. So what are you going to do?"

"I don't really know, Jon. I'm not going home, though. That much I have decided. If I can't cut it here, I'll transfer to the engineering school."

"The Navy always needs good engineering officers, Patric, but I hope you haven't given up on the Academy yet-who'd come visit me down here?"

"I don't know, Jon. I don't want to leave, but I'm so _tired. _Tired of never catching up, tired of looking stupid in class, ...tired of failing." Patric dropped his eyes and stared at the floor.

Seaton scratched at his mustache for a while. "I can't say I blame you, Patric. I wouldn't last a week as a cadet-I know my own limitations. But I don't think you've reached yours yet. Maybe you should be an engineering officer, and maybe you should not-but you have to decide-and soon."

"I know. But like Lt. Moyen said: I even make a decision by not deciding. Still, it comes down to getting some help or leaving-sooner or later."

"I'm sure there is help to be had, Patric. There are some mighty bright young people wandering around this island," said the Chief.

"I know, Jon, but it's just so hard to..." his voice trailed off.

"Hard to what?"

Patric squirmed in his seat but said nothing. Seaton stared at him for a moment and twirled the end of his mustache absently.

"You said you were the eldest at home, is that right?" asked Seaton at last. Patric nodded his head. "You probably helped your father on the farm, didn't you?"

"Yes, a farm is a lot of work, Jon."

"I know, I almost ended up on one instead of here," said Seaton. "Best decision I ever made-but that's another story! I guess you helped your mother a lot and your brothers and sisters too." Patric nodded again.

After a long silence Jon Seaton asked: "Who did you go to when you needed help, Patric?"

Patric shrugged his shoulders. "Well... my dad always taught me to be self-reliant, to help myself."

Seaton nodded. "To stand on your own two feet, to be beholden to no one, to show no weakness. Yup, I know the type-was that way myself once. Patric, you've got a lot of pride, and it's a hard thing for a proud man to admit he needs help. But sooner or later everyone needs help, Patric. There's no shame in that."

"I know, Jon," said Patric. "But to go up to some stranger and admit that I'm stupid and expect him to help..." he trailed off again.

"First off, it's not stupid to ask for help when you need it-in your case it would be stupid not to ask, if I may be so bold. Second, why does it have to be a stranger? You have friends here, don't you?"

"Yes," admitted Patric, "but somehow that seems even worse."

"Are you afraid they'll think less of you? I've seen you helping those types with two left feet out on the drill field. Do you think less of them because of that?" Patric shook his head. "You see? It's not as bad as you thought."

Seaton leaned back in his chair and stared into space for a while.

"Patric, I can't help you with your classwork," said the Chief at last. "All I can do is give you some advice, for what it's worth. One thing you have to learn about the Navy, lad, is that we are a team. No one can go it alone. We have to work together and help each other. Like I said the first day we met, your time at the Academy is just the beginning-and you have to learn the things you'll need later. This is one of those things."

Patric nodded, but did not looked convinced.

"Now you said you were having trouble in the tactical simulator," continued Seaton. "Who's the best person you know in the sims?"

Patric was silent for a moment. "Helen Zilwicki, I suppose."

"Who just happens to be your roommate, as I recall," said Seaton with a small grin. "How about on computers?"

"Alby Hinsworth does real well with the computers," admitted Patric.

"Ah! I believe I'm seeing a pattern here. And my own sources tell me that Ms. Anny Payne is a whiz at mathematics." The Chief gave a sigh. "Patric, the people who put together the berthing schedule didn't just pull people's names out of a hat. They tried to match people's strengths and weaknesses to make good _teams. _It seems to me that you might be part of a really good team already-if you're willing to _be_ part of it."

Patric sat and stared at the ground. After a moment Chief Seaton stood up.

"It's getting late, Patric-in more ways than one! I can't make your decision for you, and you aren't going to accomplish anything sitting here. Off with you now! I've given you the benefit of my years of accumulated wisdom. That's all I can do."

Patric got up slowly and then held out his hand.

"Thanks, Jon. Whatever I decide, I appreciate your help."

"Not at all, not at all," said Seaton taking his hand with a smile. "Just doing my part to keep the Navy running-now _you_ run-I've got things to do!"

"Good night, Chief," said Patric.

Patric did not go straight back to the dormitory, but he got there eventually. During the walk, he changed his mind about a dozen times. The thought of more classwork-even with help-made the idea of transferring very attractive. He had always been good with tools and machines and the thought of spending his career in the engine room instead of the bridge did not seem so bad. But the thought of leaving the Academy, leaving his friends-leaving Anny-was like a lump of lead in his heart. A lot of cadets _had_ left the Academy already. Nine from his company alone. Sometimes you saw them go and they might volunteer why-bad grades, homesickness, misplaced expectations, whatever. Other times they just were not there at the next role-call . He walked along the well-lit paths of the campus. By the time he returned to the Dormitory, it was nearly the end of the Academy day, but he still had not made up his mind.

He slowly crossed the causeway and entered the building. He dreaded returning to his room, because he knew he would not be able to put off a decision any longer when he got there. Finally, he took the lift up to the fourth floor. When the doors opened he could hear roars of laughter coming from down the hall. After a moment he could hear music and a strong voice raised in song:

"_Oh, I know we're just First Form, but my bed is soft and warm,_

_I don't want to get up, but I have to;_

_And the shipboard time we crave, is a long way down the wave,_

_And next week, they're turning up the grav, too!"_

Patric grinned in spite of his gloom. It was Jonathan Cresswell-Jones, a cadet in his company. Everyone called him JC and he had a knack for making up irreverent songs about the Academy. He had teamed up with Anny Payne and her geetar to turn out some outrageous stuff. Right now he was singing one of the cadets' favorites: "The Plebes' Lament". As Patric walked towards his room, a dozen more voices joined in on the chorus:

"_Curst upperclassmen,_

_your rules sorely chafe!_

_I'll grab me a cycle,_

_and run me a strafe!_

_Oh, we are un-grateful brutes, with our heads skinned like our 'suits,_

_The pride of the Manticoran Na-vy!"_

JC had apparently added a few new verses since Patric last heard the song. He looked in the door and saw that the common room of his quarters was packed. Anny was seated with her geetar and JC was standing next to her.

"_We're all Thayer'd and worn, with our days crammed night to morn,_

_We're Haupt-up on engineering to-pics,_

_They'll Del-bruck us no gainsay, hist'ry marches day by day,_

_While our rooms go from Arctic to the tro-pics!"_

Alby was there and Helen too. Alby couldn't carry a tune in a sack, but he was howling away on the choruses with the rest of them. Even Helen was joining in.

_Near twenty cent'ries,_

_Of Diaspora's glow;_

_It just might be longer_

_'fore WE get to go!_

_Oh, we are un-grateful brutes, with our heads skinned like our 'suits,_

_The pride of the Manticoran Na-vy!_

Anny smiled and waved when she saw Patric standing by the door, but she did not miss a beat with her geetar.

_Oh, my marks and welts look swell - thanks to Angel Gabriel,_

_Vagner's Valkyries ride our shoulders;_

_Oh, do Pique our int'rest now; let the Spartans show us how,_

_Sisyphus could juggle all OUR boul-ders!_

Patric found himself joining in on the last chorus.

_More simulations?_

_Oh, DON'T make it so!_

_Bring up your sidewalls -_

_My brain's gonna blow!_

_Oh, we are un-grateful brutes, with our heads skinned like our 'suits,_

_The pride of the Manticoran Na-vy!*_

They finished up with a flourish and the room dissolved into a torrent of laughs, shouts and whoops. Eventually the commotion died down and after a few minutes the other cadets started to filter out of the room. It was all the break they could afford, they had to get back to work. Patric saw JC try to plant a kiss on Anny's cheek, but she skillfully eluded him and shooed him out the door with a laugh.

Somewhere in the middle of the song, Patric had made up his mind.

When the last of the other cadets had left, he came into the room and shut the door. Anny was putting her geetar back in its case and Helen and Alby were starting towards their rooms.

"Uh... guys?" said Patric hesitantly.

The other three all stopped and looked at him. He blushed and dropped his eyes.

"What is it, Patric?" asked Anny. "Is something wrong?"

Patric sat down in one of the chairs and forced himself to look in their faces-it was as hard as anything he had ever done.

"I...uh...I could use some help." He could feel his face burning.

"What kind of help?" asked Helen.

"With my classwork," said Patric. He winced slightly as he said it, but the sky did not fall on him. "I know you guys have your own plates full already, but..."

"Hey, no problem, Big Guy," said Alby, "All you had to do was ask."

"Yes, we'd be glad to help, Patric," said Anny.

"Sure! We can all work together," added Helen.

And it was that simple. The boulder was a lot easier to hold up with four pairs of hands.

* _"The Plebes Lament"_ by the real Jonathan Cresswell-Jones, with many thanks! - sw.

**Chapter Six**

**B**ut even with four pairs of hands, it was still a hell of a lot of work. It took the four of them a few days to set up a routine that would allow them to work together efficiently. During that time, Patric felt like he was falling further behind than ever. He started to panic again, but the others stood by him and eventually he began making progress.

"There are a number of things you have to remember in the simulators, Patric," said Helen Zilwicki. "The first is to worry only about the things you are _supposed_ to be worrying about. If you are at Damage Control, don't be trying to do the Navigator's job. If you at Helm, you don't need to worry about Tactical. Of course if you are playing the skipper, you _do _have to worry about everything, but like it or not, you must depend on your people to do their jobs and only feed you the information you really need. Information overload is one of the toughest things to avoid."

Patric nodded his head. It felt a little odd to be getting instructions from this little wisp of a girl, but there was probably no one on the whole island that had a better intuitive grasp for the tactical simulators than Helen Zilwicki. Aside from her famous mother, Helen had several other relatives in the Navy and it was obvious that she had learned a lot from them before she arrived at the Academy. The two of them were sitting in her room where she had her terminal configured in simulator mode. There was a half-light in the sky outside the window, but Patric could not remember if it was dawn or dusk.

"The most important thing if you are at Navigation, Helm, Tactical, or in the captain's chair, is to think in four dimensions. We live in a four dimensional universe-length, width, height, and time. Or X, Y, Z, and T if you prefer. Most people go through their lives only dealing with two or three dimensions at once. We have to deal with all four-all the time. It is not just where you _are_ in three dimensions, but where you _will be, _and where the enemy will be, over time."

Patric knew this, but knowing it and actually being able to _think_ that way were two different things.

"And you have two different sets of dimensional coordinates to worry about at the same time," continued Helen. "The attitude of your ship-pitch, roll, and yaw-are completely independent from the position and vector of the ship. You can be pointed one way and be actually moving in a completely different direction. Now I've set up a training sim here that I've found useful. You have one ship, and the enemy has two. You will be given a set of target coordinates that you have to get to. The enemy will be trying to get in position to fire down your throat or up your kilt. Your sole objective is to get your ship to its destination without giving the enemy those throat or kilt shots. You don't have to worry about your own weapons or anything else, this is pure maneuver. Ready? Okay, let's begin..."

It was hard, but bit by bit Patric started thinking in four dimensions the way Helen wanted him to. For Helen, it seemed as natural as breathing. She and Patric talked to Lt. Moyen and he got Patric reassigned to her tactics class so they could work together. That was quite a bonus, since just about everyone wanted to work with Helen. Word had gotten around quickly that the Academy had a new tactics wizard, and a lot of people wanted to see her in action. Patric was in awe of her ability to analyze complex tactical situations in her head and come to the right solution-sometimes she even surprised the instructors with the tricks she came up with.

He was learning a lot from working with Helen, but she could be disturbing too. At times there seemed to be some sort of computer inside her skull instead of the brain of a fourteen-year-old. During one exercise, the instructor had thrown a problem at her that was usually reserved for Fourth Form cadets. Helen took on two heavy cruisers with just one and beat them both. Patric was sitting in the Damage Control station-a post he felt very comfortable in-and watched her work her magic. One Peep cruiser exploded into a ball of plasma and a short while later the other was a drifting and abandoned wreck. Patric had hardly had anything to do.

When the life-pods started spewing out of their second adversary, the other cadets in the simulator began to cheer. They whooped and whistled as if it were a soccer game and slapped Helen on the back. The instructor came in and joined the party-she was as elated at Helen's performance as the rest of them. After a few moments Patric noticed that Helen had left the celebrating throng, had sat down at the now unoccupied Tactical Station and was fiddling with the controls. He walked over to her with a grin to give his own congratulations. The grin froze on his face when he saw what she was doing. The simulation was still running and Helen had taken manual control of the gunnery system. She was methodically blowing away the Peep life-pods. Patric wasn't sure if he was more appalled by _what_ she was doing or awed by the fact that she was _able_ to do it. The range was nearly three light seconds, and she was picking them off _manually _with scarcely a miss.

When she saw him staring, she looked at him with those steel-gray eyes of hers and said: "Just practicing." She smiled slightly, as if it were a joke, but Patric could only think: _Practicing for what?_ Helen was definitely a scary person sometimes.

Working with Helen was all business. Working with Alby Hinsworth was anything but. Alby was as much at home with a computer as Helen was with a tactical simulator, but he used a computer for fun. The simulator was a tool for Helen, but a computer-any computer-was just a toy to Alby. Patric found himself learning all sorts of things he never would have learned from his instructors-including some things that his instructors probably did not want him to know.

"Computers are stupid," Alby would tell him, "and you have to trick them into doing what you want them to do. The people who built them and wrote the software are even stupider and you have to assume that they don't _want_ you to be able to get the computer to do what you want."

The computers the Navy used were all the newest and most powerful available, but they were set up with software to do only the specific jobs the Navy desired. Patric's instructors wanted him to understand the system and to be able to get the maximum performance out of it within its designed parameters. Alby did not care in the slightest what the designed parameters were, and only slightly more about what the Navy expected from them.

Alby showed Patric all sorts of ways to make the computers do what the instructors wanted-even though he was not doing it the _way_ the instructor wanted. And Alby could do it so that the instructor never even knew. Patric felt a little uneasy about Alby's methods, it seemed a little too much like cheating.

"The object is to get the job done, right?" Alby asked when Patric mentioned this to him. "What difference does it make how we do it, as long as it works? Besides, if I really wanted to cheat..." Alby started entering commands into his terminal faster than Patric could follow. Screen after screen flashed on to the terminal only to disappear before Patric could see what it was. Finally Alby stopped and leaned back in his chair. Patric read what was on Alby's monitor and then looked at him in shock.

"But, but, that's..." stammered Patric.

"It certainly is," said Alby with a grin of triumph, "the Registrars' grade records. It's just the main screen, but our grades are only a password away. Should I go in there and raise all your grades a few dozen points, Patric? It would be easier than doing all this work."

"Alby! Don't you dare!" said Patric aghast.

"Oh, Patric, you are much too pure at heart," sighed Alby.

"Have you..."

"No, I must admit that I have not actually gone in there-yet. It would be far riskier than just getting this far. But I'll keep this up my sleeve until I need it," said Alby with a sly smile.

"You're doing fine with your classes, Alby," protested Patric, "why would you ever need to raise your grades?"

"Who said anything about _raising _my grades?" replied Alby, and his smile grew broader.

"I don't think I understand," said Patric slowly.

"You're not supposed to," said Alby, and he refused to say anything more on the subject.

In spite of Alby's rather unconventional teaching methods, Patric made progress. As he started to understand Alby's way of doing things he also better understood the way the instructors _wanted_ him to operate. He felt a lot better doing things the Navy way, even though Alby would _tsk, tsk_ and shake his head.

Working with Anny Payne on Mathematics and Astrogation was hard. Not only were they very demanding subjects, but Patric found it difficult to keep his mind on business. Sitting side by side at a terminal, Patric was constantly being distracted by the warm and fragrant presence of a very pretty girl. A pretty girl that he liked very much. Anny seemed to be aware of what she was doing to Patric and after a while she had them take their compads out into one of the lounges to work. There was less privacy there, but that was probably a good thing.

Astrogation was like a combination of the tactics Helen was trying to teach him and Alby's computers. In fact, N-Space navigation was exactly like the four-dimensional exercises that Helen was running him through, but with the math added. Once he caught on to that fact, he found himself doing better in both subjects. H-space navigation was another matter. Since only a handful of humanity's most brilliant mathematicians really understood the mechanics of Hyperspace, there was a limit to what Patric could hope to grasp. Fortunately, the Academy's demands on his understanding were fairly modest. As long as he could handle the practical aspects of piloting a ship through that strange alternate dimension, his instructors would be satisfied. The computers did most of the work since the calculations for even a single hyper transit would have kept a person busy for most of a Prolong extended lifetime doing them by hand. It was mostly a matter of knowing what to tell the computers to do along with the reasons for doing so.

Patric was a little surprised that Anny understood it as well as she did. In spite of the fact that Grayson was the second most important member of the Alliance, after Manticore itself, Patric, like most people, still tended to think of Grayson as a primitive backwater that had only recently joined the modern galaxy. The popular image of Grayson's women, being relegated to domestic chores made Anny's skill even more surprising to Patric. He asked her about it during a break, being careful not to sound insulting or patronizing.

"I guess I'm not exactly typical," Anny said. She seemed a little embarrassed. "Grayson's women are better educated than most Manticorans realize, but it is true that many never get a chance to make much use of what they know. I had the advantage of parents that fully support Protector Mayhew's reforms. The example of Steadholder Harrington has not hurt either. And, of course, the fact that I was here on Manticore was a major factor too. My father sent me to a very good private school. Once I had made up my mind to come to the Academy, I was able to tailor my courses to prepare me for it."

"That must have been quite a decision," said Patric.

"I guess it was," she said smiling at him. "I'll tell you about it sometime. Come on, this isn't getting any work done."

Getting help from his friends was not as embarrassing as Patric had feared, but he was very grateful for the fact that there were some times when he could actually help them in return. Patric was much more skilled at any sort of practical engineering than the others. Even though the new curriculum had reduced engineering drastically, there was still some and Patric often helped his roommates with it. He was also better at the drill than Alby or Anny. Alby was one of those people with two left feet that Jon Seaton had mentioned. Even though the drill would have no practical use once they left the Academy, it did Patric's ego a world of good to be able to help other people with it.

There were also some subjects where all four of them were left in a quandary. The Military History and Strategy classes had them all shaking their heads. The four of them would sit in the common room trying to figure out what they were supposed to be learning.

"I just don't see the point of studying these ancient military theorists," Alby would complain. "I mean, what could SunTzu or Clausewitz possibly know about interstellar war?"

"I guess we are supposed to find things that are true no matter what the circumstances or the technology," mused Patric.

"Like what?"

"Well, that's the trick," put in Anny. "We want to find specific advice we can use, but that's not what's in there. Remember how Captain Delbruck was telling us about Jomini and Clausewitz? Both of them were trying to determine why Napoleon had been so successful. Jomini wrote specific advice of what a general should do in the field, while Clausewitz took a more theoretical approach. Initially, Jomini was much more popular since he was a lot easier to understand. But then times and technology changed and Jomini's advice was of no use anymore. Clausewitz, on the other hand, remained the chief military theorist for centuries."

"And don't forget about Mahan," said Helen. "His theories were for wet navy strategy, but Anderman took them, updated them, put his own name on them, and they're still the standard work today."

"Not that the Andermani will admit where they came from," smirked Alby. "But I still don't see the point for us. Like you say, there's nothing in them that's going help us be ensigns-or even captains-on a starship. This grand strategy stuff is for admirals, not us."

"Well, maybe you'll be an admiral someday," said Anny.

"Not if I can help it,' answered Alby.

Patric doggedly pushed ahead, day by day and week by week. He quit the rugby team and tried to make every waking hour as productive as possible. He slept like the dead each 'night' and forced himself awake to begin it all again the next 'day'. He made progress. His grades were improving across the board. But he was running out of time. Six weeks after his meeting with Lt. Moyen he received another summons to his office.

"Well, Mr. McDermott, I see you have taken my advice and gotten some help," said Moyen as Patric sat down.

"Yes, sir," answered Patric. "My roommates have been helping me a lot."

"It certainly shows in your grades. Your simulator performance is much improved. I imagine that is Cadet Zilwicki's influence. I've been meaning to sit in on one of her exercises."

"She is certainly something to see, sir."

Moyen's expression grew serious. "Patric, you have given me a bit of a problem."

"Sir?"

"Your grades have improved significantly-but not enough," said Moyen. Patric had feared Moyen would say this. He did not know what to do, what to say. He just sat there with a stricken look on his face.

"Patric, there are a set of guidelines we advisors are supposed to follow concerning minimum performance. In spite of your really admirable efforts to improve, your grade average falls below the minimum in several subjects."

"I've tried, sir..." began Patric. He felt tears gathering in his eyes and he blinked them back.

"I know you have," interrupted Moyen, "and that's the problem you have given me. If you had not tried, or you had tried but not done so well, I could insist that you drop out or transfer with a clear conscience. If you had done even a little bit better you would have been safely above the minimum and again there would be no problem for me."

Moyen leaned back in his chair and tapped a stylus on his desk while he studied Patric. "Unfortunately, you put me in a position where I have to act on my own initiative. In spite of what Colonel DuPique may have taught you, even good officers don't particularly like to use their initiative."

Patric was not sure what Moyen was talking about, but he felt a sudden glimmer of hope.

Moyen leaned forward again and fixed his eyes on Patric. "Mr. McDermott, I'm going to take a chance on you. I am going to recommend that you be allowed to continue here at the Academy..." Patric felt such a surge of relief that he missed the Lieutenant's next few words. "...not sure why I'm doing this, but sometimes you just have to go with your instincts."

"Sir... thank you, sir," stammered Patric.

"Son, I'm sticking my neck out for you. Some people are going to question my judgment-I'm depending on you not to let me down."

"I'll do my best, sir," said Patric earnestly.

"I know you will. Now get back to work and try to get those grades up before the Queen arrives."

**Chapter Seven**

**P**atric McDermott looked at the thing in his hand. _How can a simple piece of metal mean so much?_ He was holding his cadet sword and it was an elegant and utterly priceless object to Patric. He turned it over in his hands, examining it again. The guard on the hilt was a simple crosspiece, unlike the enclosed guard on the sword of a commissioned officer. Where the crosspiece met the hilt, there was a nine-pointed star engraved in the metal. The pommel was in the shape of an ancient knight's helmet with a tiny manticore as a crest. There was elaborate scrollwork on the blade framing an area that would someday have Patric's name engraved-assuming he ever graduated. He ran his finger along the edge of the blade. It deliberately had not been sharpened-the sword was never meant to be used as a weapon. The narrow blade looked fragile, but it was made of an alloy that ancient swordsmiths would have sold their souls to possess.

It was two hours before dawn on the day the cadets would swear their oaths to the Queen. The sword had been presented to Patric-along with swords for all the other cadets-in a lengthy ceremony the previous day. That was another break with tradition caused by the changes in the Academy. In past years, the presentation of the sword was part of the Oath Taking ceremony, but the time it would take to give out swords to twenty-six hundred cadets had forced a change. For this class, the cadets would march to the parade ground with their swords already at their sides.

Patric returned the sword to the scabbard that was hanging on his belt and then looked at himself in the mirror. He was in a uniform that was as new as the sword. _My Mess-Dress Uniform! _he thought proudly. He felt that it was a strangely inappropriate name for a uniform that looked so sharp. The uniform he usually wore was his 'walking out' or 'undress' uniform. That had a gray tunic that came down to his hips and had wide false lapels to suggest that it was double breasted even though it was not. It had two belt loops and simple shoulder epaulets. The stand-up collar was open enough to give room for the white turtleneck that virtually all RMN personnel wore. There was thin black piping on the collar, cuffs and epaulets. Gray trousers that tucked into ankle boots and a gray beret completed the outfit. The mess-dress uniform was similar, but more ornate. There was more piping around the edge of the lapels and the skirt of the tunic was longer, with piped pockets in the back. A black stripe went down the outside seam of the trousers. The beret had a gold metal manticore adorning it instead of the embroidered patch of his regular beret. Perhaps the most noticeable item on the uniform-other than the sword-was the Academy badge. Patric's other uniforms had an embroidered patch on the right shoulder showing a knight's helmet over a nine-pointed star. The mess-dress uniform had the same symbol in gold and silver metal, but it was worn on the left breast. Patric thought the whole thing looked wonderful.

Patric became aware of a commotion out in the common room. He opened the door of his room and saw that Alby and Anny were engaged in a mock duel with their new swords.

"Ha! have at you!" shouted Alby, thrusting at Anny and missing by half a meter.

"Back you varlet! I'll chop you into chutney!" countered Anny, carefully missing Alby in return.

"Varlet, is it? Why you knave, I'll have your gizzard for that!" sputtered Alby, but he was sputtering with laughter. Anny joined him and their duel dissolved in giggles.

"What is a 'varlet', anyway?" asked Helen, who was watching.

"Beats me," admitted Anny, "it just sounded good."

Patric joined them. The others were in their mess-dress uniforms as well. They were all the same except for Helen's. Helen had a dark red sash around her waist under the belt, and she sported the collar pips of a cadet-captain. Last week Cadet-Sergeant David and Cadet-Corporal Mattingly had taken leave of 'C' Company. The First Form cadets had progressed far enough to earn their own company officers and NCOs. They still had Third Form cadets filling the battalion staff positions, but that would not be for much longer either. Ranks had been appointed based on class standings and the evaluations of the instructors. It surprised no one that Helen Zilwicki became the commander of 'C' Company-most people were betting that she became the battalion commander within a month. Helen's performance had been outstanding and Patric fully expected her to become the regimental commander someday. None of the other three had any rank. In Alby's case that was due to an amazing number of demerits he had accumulated. Alby was very smart, but he did not seem to have a military demeanor-he was constantly getting into one sort of trouble or other. Patric was surprised that Anny had not even gotten an NCO position, her grades were good enough so he did not know why she had not. Patric was a little sad that he had to give up his temporary corporal's rank, but he felt lucky to be here at all. _And I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for their help._ He felt a powerful affection for his friends.

"Guys, I want to thank you again for all your help. If it wasn't for you, I never would have made it."

"Hey, that's what friends are for," said Anny with a smile.

"Right!" said Alby. He held his sword so the point was in the air. "One for all!"

The others stared for a moment and then drew their swords and carefully put their points near Alby's. They touched lightly and rang like bells.

"And all for one!" they shouted together.

"The Four Rocketeers!" said Alby and they all laughed. Patric looked at his three friends, _Jon was right, we really are a team._

Helen checked her chrono. "It's just about time, we better get going."

"Right, Cadet-Captain Zilwicki!" said Alby saluting with his sword. "Command, and we obey!"

"Put that thing away before you hurt somebody," said Helen, suppressing a grin.

The foursome left the room and walked out into the corridor. A number of other cadets were already milling about and the doors to most of the rooms were standing open. Helen went to the end of the corridor nearest the lobby.

"'C' Company! Fall in!" shouted Helen. She was young and her voice was still high-pitched and childlike, but nobody questioned her right to command. The sixty-four remaining members of the company spilled out into the corridor and quickly found their spots. It was no longer necessary for them to compare their sizes, or even count off-each cadet knew where they belonged. Patric was not a corporal anymore, but he was still the tallest one there; that put him on the right of the company, but in the rear rank instead of the front. Timothy Friswell was the new corporal on the right of the line. Patric was a little envious, but not jealous-Friswell had earned the spot. _Maybe someday, I'll get it back._ Thought Patric.

"In two ranks, Right-Face!" commanded Helen. The architects of the Cadet Dormitory had included a number of special features in the building to accommodate its unusual functions, but they had not made the corridors wide enough for a company to march along. 'C' Company filed into the lobby in two's and then halted to face the lifts. Helen checked her chrono again, "Thirty seconds-standby," she cautioned.

On schedule, all four lift doors opened. The cadets entered the cars, one section in each. The doors closed, and a few moments later they were on the ground floor. They reassembled in the main lobby. Another company, which had come down just before them, was already marching out the doors, meanwhile the lifts went back up for the next company. Patric wondered what the original author of the ancient drill regulations would have thought of the modifications the Academy had made to it. _Captain Delbruck has never mentioned any troops taking lifts into battle!_

Cadet-Captain Zilwicki marched her company over the causeway to a wide, paved area where the battalions were assembling. There was a considerable wait while the remainder of the regiment arrived. Helen put them at rest and went off to talk with their battalion commander.

Shortly afterward, the Cadet Band arrived. In past years there was a single band for all four forms of cadets who paraded as a single regiment. With the expansion, each new form would be its own regiment. Patric's class was in the process of putting together a regimental band, but they were not quite up to performing in front of the Queen, so they were borrowing the upperclassmen's band again today.

There was a faint glimmer of dawn in the southeastern sky when the last of the companies was in position. They were called to attention and shortly they were on the road leading to the parade ground. It still felt a little strange to be marching in the rear rank, and even stranger to only have a sword instead of the pulse rifle he normally carried while drilling.

As they approached the parade ground, Patric noticed a number of unusual things. The old reviewing stand had been replaced with a much larger and more elaborate one. Several areas had been roped off for the press and a number of HD pickups had been erected around the field. Dozens of army personnel from the Queen's Own Regiment in their elaborate dress uniforms were in evidence all around the area and Patric felt sure there were many more that he could not see. He could hear the faint whine of turbines in the distance from the security cordon of armed pinnaces that were circling the island. _It's a shame they need so much security, _thought Patric, _it almost seems like they don't trust us!_ But he knew it was not the cadets that Security did not trust. The Queen was going to be here and everyone _knew_ the Queen was going to be here, a ready-made security nightmare for the people sworn to protect Her Majesty.

The battalions marched onto the field and deployed into line facing the reviewing stand. The four battalions made a line that stretched nearly from one end of the field to the other. They were placed at rest and stood there listening to the band which had stopped near the reviewing stand. The dawn continued to grow in the sky behind them and shortly the floodlights illuminating the field were shut off and the field was plunged into twilight.

While they waited, Patric thought about what was going to happen shortly. They were going to become Officers of the Queen. Not just fighting men and women in the Armed Service of Manticore, they were swearing Oaths of Allegiance to the Queen herself. Part of him-that egalitarian, Gryphon part of him-was skeptical of this throwback to feudalism, but another, larger, part of him was deeply moved. The political system of the Star Kingdom might seem anachronistic, _but_ _it worked_. It recognized that constitutional checks and balances on power were necessary, but it was the personal ties of loyalty that held it all together. Patric had already experienced the loyalty that could develop between comrades; the loyalty that could be felt for the Navy. Today, they would take that one step further.

Had Queen Elizabeth III been a lesser person, Patric might have listened to that skeptical part of himself. He would have taken the oath in any case, transferring his loyalty to the _idea _of the monarchy, even if he felt no loyalty to the person of the monarch herself. But thankfully, that was not the case; everything he had heard about the Queen indicated she was someone truly worthy of his loyalty. He was glad of that.

He was also glad that the Queen took the oath as seriously as the cadets did. Some of the past monarchs had only played lip service to the Navy. They had sent representatives to stand in for them at the Oath Taking and paid little or no attention to the fleet-or their officers. Elizabeth was not like that. She was here for every Oath Taking and for every graduation. These were _her _officers and she wanted them-and the whole galaxy-to know she cared.

The southeastern sky was very bright when a flight of shuttles and armed pinnaces came in from the north. They circled once around the parade ground with their turbines screaming and then settled in for a landing at Kreskin Field. Patric glanced down the line of his company and saw Anny Payne looking back at him. They both grinned.

"Nervous?" asked the cadet standing next to him.

"A little," admitted Patric. "I don't know why, it's not like she's going to talk to me personally or anything."

"I know what you mean," grinned the youth, "my hands are all sweaty. I hope I don't drop the sword!"

A few minutes passed and then there was a stir among the battalion officers. An officer in RMN mess-dress walked up onto the reviewing stand. He saw that the officer was Lt. Commander Semancik, the Commandant's Adjutant.

"Attention, Battalions!" shouted Semancik.

"Shoulder, Arms!" Patric drew his sword. Twenty-six hundred cadets did the same and the rasp of metal against metal as the swords came out of their scabbards rang across the field. He placed the hilt against his right hip and rested the blade lightly on his right shoulder.

As they stood at attention, a small caravan of ground cars approached the reviewing stand. The cars stopped and a crowd of people got out. The Newsies started shuffling about in their pen.

At Semancik's command, the battalions opened their ranks -the rear rank, and Patric with them, stepping back four paces. Then all of the Third Form battalion officers marched forward and positioned themselves to the right of the band: this ceremony was for the First Form cadets and no one else.

The group that had gotten out of the ground cars was slowly approaching the reviewing stand. Patric knew that one in the group was the Queen, but he could not yet tell which one. He spotted the Commandant in her powerchair.

Suddenly Patric saw the treetops on the hills at the far end of the island turn to gold with sunlight. As he watched, dawn swept across the island. He felt the sun hit his back and his shadow stretched out before him. The Queen's party was moving up the ramp to the reviewing stand.

"Battalions! Present - Arms!"

Twenty-six hundred cadets brought the hilts of their swords up in front of their eyes and then slowly lowered them. Patric saw the Adjutant salute and then step aside.

There was a roll of drums and the band started to play 'The Monarch's Anthem'. As it did so, Elizabeth III, Queen of Manticore, stepped onto the platform. She seemed to glow in the sunshine. The music was proud and majestic-just like the woman standing there with her hand over her heart. Shivers went down Patric's spine and he blinked back tears.

When the music stopped, an officer whose uniform gleamed with gold braid and medals stepped to the front of the platform. It was Admiral Sir Thomas Caparelli, the First Space Lord.

"Shoulder - Arms! Order - Arms!" commanded Caparelli, as if he had suddenly been transformed into a Marine drill instructor. The cadets brought their swords back to their shoulders and then lowered the points.

The First Space Lord looked out over the assembled cadets, then he began to speak. The words he spoke were not his own. They were words that had been used countless times over the ages, in many languages and many forms. The words that pledged a warrior's service to his lord.

"Cadets of the Royal Manticoran Naval Academy, you come here today to swear allegiance to your Queen! By this oath you pledge your service, your honor, your very life to your Sovereign. Let no one enter into this lightly! If any man or woman here have reason to doubt their willingness or ability to meet this obligation, let them leave now!"

Silence filled the field, broken only by the cries of a few wheeling seabirds, and the distant crash of the surf.

"Cadets! Kneel!" Patric and the assembled cadets sank to one knee and held their swords in front of them, point resting on the ground, hilt upright.

"Repeat these words after me," said Caparelli. "'I' - speak your name."

"I, Patric McDermott," said Patric. Twenty-six hundred other voices spoke with his. An incredible, indescribable feeling came rolling over him. The First Space Lord continued and the cadets repeated after him.

"Do solemnly swear and affirm, true faith and allegiance to Elizabeth III, Queen of Manticore. That I will, with my life's blood, defend the constitution of the Kingdom, the person of the Queen, and the citizens of Manticore against all enemies, whoever they might be. This I pledge, now and for as long as life remains in me, upon my sacred honor."

"So help me, God!" finished Patric. There was a murmur around him as the other cadets finished the Oath in the fashion of their choosing. The Oath was short and to the point, but it changed forever those who took it.

Patric took a deep breath. _I've done it! I've really done it!_

"Officers of the Queen! Rise up!" commanded the First Space Lord. The long lines of cadets rose to their feet. Caparelli turned and bowed to the Queen and then stepped aside. The Queen came forward and looked over the assembly. Several long moments passed before she spoke.

"I, Elizabeth III, Queen of Manticore, do accept the Oaths you here pledge. In turn, I swear to you that I will meet faith with faith, loyalty with loyalty, and service with service. So help me, God!" The Queen paused and looked over the cadets again before continuing.

"My dear cadets. Seeing you here today fills me with a pride and a joy that cannot be expressed in words. Looking at your young faces, I am reminded of my own youth when the throne came to me. I was young when I shouldered that burden, but not as young as most of you here." Patric realized with a shock, that he was almost the same age as the Queen when she took the throne.

"The burden I took up came to me as an accident of birth. You here today have also taken upon yourselves a great burden, yet you have taken that burden freely, of your own choice. For that you have my greatest admiration and thanks. Indeed, I bring the thanks of the nation that you have sworn to defend.

"Centuries ago, Edward Saganami called the cadets of this Academy his "_Star Knights"._ So they were, and so you are. You, and all who come from these hallowed halls are my Star Knights. You are the sword and the buckler of our Kingdom. It is you who shall lead the brave people of our nation against the darkness that threatens us."

That tiny, skeptical, Gryphon part of Patric was saying that this was all a carefully staged bit of drama for impressionable cadets-and an impressionable public. But the rest of him was not listening. That was _his_ Queen up there, and if she had ordered it, at that moment, he would have taken on the entire People's Republic with nothing more than the sword in his hand.

"You are embarking upon a mighty endeavor," continued the Queen. "Great battles lie before you. Yet you do not fight for conquest, you fight to end conquest. You fight to bring peace and justice to the stars. I pray that God watch over you: that He lend strength to your arms; stoutness to your hearts, and steadfastness to your faith. I pray that when victory is won, you return safe to your loved ones. I pray that He embrace those who fall in defense of the Realm and that the people of this Kingdom ever honor those who gave their lives. I command you now to go forth! Go forth to victory! And may God go with you!"

The Queen finished speaking. Patric was stunned by the intensity of it all. He had heard many of the Queen's speeches but nothing had been quite like this. He was choked up, and glancing about he saw that many of the cadets had tears in their eyes or on their faces.

The Queen and her escort were now coming down from the platform. The ceremony called for her to inspect the cadets. In years past this meant she would walk down the line of the front rank and then the rear rank. With six or seven hundred cadets that was not too long a walk, but with twenty-six hundred it could take quite a while. The briefing the cadets had received warned them that the Queen might, or might not, inspect all of them, the Academy had not received word of the Queen's intentions.

As it turned out, the Queen did inspect each and every one of them. From start to finish, the Queen and her escort must have walked over three kilometers and it took over an hour. Fortunately, from the cadets' perspective, they were put discretely at parade rest until the Queen drew near: at least they did not have to remain at attention the whole time.

Being in the rear rank, Patric had quite a wait before the Queen got to him, but he did get to see her walk by while she was inspecting the front rank. He was interested to see that the Queen's treecat was now with her. The 'cat alternately rode the Queen's shoulder, sat in her arms, or strode regally at her side. She was holding the cat when she came past 'C' Company the first time. The Queen had been stopping from time to time and exchanging a few words with some of the cadets. Now she stopped directly in front of Helen Zilwicki and the treecat was twitching its tail vigorously. Helen and the Queen stared at each other for several seconds, but nothing was said and the Queen moved on. _What was that all about?_ wondered Patric.

The Queen had a sizable escort. The Prince Consort and their daughter, Princess Joanna, were there from the royal family. The First Space Lord and several other admirals that Patric did not recognize trailed behind with some of their staff, and there were the inevitable security guards. Admiral Thayer bumped along in her power chair, attended by her Adjutant.

Patric was suddenly struck by the image the crippled Thayer made. _All this pomp and circumstance, it makes us forget the price some people have to pay!_

The sun was getting higher and the day was heating up. Fortunately, there was a pleasant breeze off the ocean. It seemed like a long time before Patric could see that the Queen had reached the end of the front rank and was headed back in his direction.

It was another ten minutes before Helen Zilwicki quietly called 'C' Company to attention. A few more minutes passed and Patric caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to look, but kept his head fixed straight to the front. Finally he could see the Queen. She was stylishly, but not ostentatiously, dressed in a formal suit with the colors of the House of Winton. Her dark eyes, set in a dark, regal face seemed to glisten in the sunshine. She was gazing intently into the face of each cadet she passed.

When she reached him, she stopped.

"What is your name, Cadet?" she asked in a friendly manner.

Patric could actually feel all the blood draining out of his face. "P-Patric McDermott, Y-your Majesty!" he stuttered.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Patric. The best of luck to you."

"Th-thank, you, Your Majesty!"

And then she was gone.

He was dimly aware of the others in the Queen's party passing by, some of them staring at him. After a minute, the cadet next to him whispered: "Not going to speak to you personally, eh?" Patric's sword fell out of his nerveless fingers, but fortunately stuck point first in the ground and Patric was able to grab it before it fell over.

The rest of the ceremony was something of a blur to Patric. After the Queen finished her inspection, she returned to the viewing stand. Next came the Presentation of the Colors. Each battalion already had a simple set of flags, now the cadets would receive their regimental colors. The two flags were presented by the Prince Consort and Princess Joanna. One flag, carried by the Prince, was the Queen's Colors. This bore the rampant manticore and crown of the House of Winton. It was elaborately decorated with various emblems of the monarchy. The other, carried somewhat awkwardly by the diminutive Princess, was the Regimental Colors. It had the nine-pointed star and knight's helmet motif of the Academy. A scroll below the star was inscribed with the number of this, the three hundred and forty-second class to pass through the Academy. The flags were given to the designated color-bearers and the Prince and Princess retired to the viewing stand. The band struck up the Academy's official march and the colors were trooped back and forth before the assembled cadets.

It was another effective bit of showmanship. The regiment would exist only for another twenty-nine months before being disbanded. The Queen's colors would be returned to the Royal Family and the Regimental Colors would be placed in Memorial Hall. But at that moment, every cadet on the field would have gladly given their life to defend the honor of those gaudy bits of cloth.

Finally, the long ceremony neared its end. The order to pass in review shook Patric out of his daze. The cadets closed ranks and then wheeled into a column to pass in front of the Queen on the reviewing stand. Wheeling a thirty-odd person wide company is no easy feat, but the cadets did it perfectly this day and made a grand sight for the Queen.

As 'C' Company, Second Battalion, Three Hundred and Forty-Second Regiment of Cadets, Royal Manticoran Navy neared the reviewing stand, its commander, Cadet-Captain Helen Zilwicki, ordered:

"Company! Eyes- right!"

Zilwicki saluted with her sword and the other cadets turned their heads sharply to look at their monarch. The Queen nodded her head in acknowledgment-as she had done for the nineteen companies that had already passed.

Eventually, the whole regiment was back where it started. The companies wheeled back into line, they opened ranks, presented arms, and it was over. The Queen waved to them, but did not speak again. Soon she and her party got back into their cars and were gone.

A few minutes later, the new Queen's Officers were marching back towards the Cadet Dormitory. Patric was physically drained but emotionally elated. What a day it had been! He would never forget this no matter how long he lived. His thoughts went back to the night he had almost transferred out of the Academy. _Thank God I stayed! I would not have traded this for anything! _ The Cadet band was playing a lively march, but Patric found himself humming an entirely different tune.

_Oh, we are un-grateful brutes, with our heads skinned like our 'suits,_

_ The pride of the Manticoran Na-vy! _

**End of Book One**


	4. Book Two

**Tales from the Academy**

Book Two

**Second Form**

**First Interlude**

"**T**wo weeks!?" shouted Rear Admiral Sylvia Thayer at the face on her terminal. "That's what you said two weeks ago, and two weeks before that!"

"I'm sorry, Admiral," replied the face, "we are doing everything we can to complete the project."

"I have three thousand new cadets arriving in six days! Just what do you expect me to do with them?"

"Ur...I understood that you had contingency plans, Admiral..."

"And it looks like I'm going to have to implement them, doesn't it?" Thayer shouted. She angrily cut the connection and slammed her hand down on her desk.

"Damn!"

_What in the world was the Admiralty thinking when they gave this job to a civilian contractor? I can't give the man any orders-Hell! I can't even have him taken out and shot! _Which is precisely what she felt like doing. Of course she knew perfectly well, why the contractor had gotten the job: a very powerful member of the House of Lords owned the firm. There was nothing resembling Conflict of Interest laws in the Star Kingdom where the aristocracy were concerned, and this sort of thing happened all the time. The only satisfaction Thayer could get was the fact that the penalty clauses in the contract would probably end up costing that powerful lord a considerable amount of money on this particular piece of pork-barrel. That, and the fact that Thayer had nothing to do with the initial planning or selection of the builder. She could not be held responsible-she just had to live with the consequences.

Or rather, her cadets were going to have to live with it. Six days from now three thousand brand new cadets would be arriving and there was no place for them to live. Phase Two of the New Cadet Dormitory was already a month behind schedule, and she had just been informed that it would be at least another two weeks before the cadets could move in. Fortunately, she _had_ made contingency plans, they were not terribly good ones, but they were all she had.

Thayer took a deep breath and composed herself. She pressed a button on her terminal and a moment later her adjutant answered.

"Yes, Admiral?" said Lt. Commander Semancik.

"Chris, I'm afraid it's confirmed. We are going to have to proceed with Operation Sardine."

"Very good, Admiral, I have all the orders ready to send at your word," replied Semancik crisply.

"Actually, it is _not _'very good', but I appreciate your efforts on this."

"My pleasure, Admiral," said Thayer's young adjutant. "Do you have any estimation of how long we will be operating under these conditions?"

"The 'Master Builder' said another two weeks, so we should plan for six," said Thayer, making no effort to keep her irritation out of her voice.

"Aye aye, ma'am, I'll send out the orders at once."

"Thank you, Chris," said Thayer, and she closed the connection.

The orders about to be sent out would cause the newly advanced Second Form cadets to double up-two to a room. This would free up enough rooms for the new First Form cadets-also two to a room. It was not a huge sacrifice for the cadets and they would certainly be living under worse conditions once they entered active service after graduation. Even so, Thayer hated to put them through this. They were having so much demanded of them as it was, they did not need this further distraction. Thayer felt like she had failed them. _They've pledged us their lives, you would think we could at least accomplish this much for them in return!_

Thayer leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. She had completed one full form as Commandant. The Fourth Form class had graduated last week and there had been no major difficulties. The new curriculum was working better than expected and the Admiralty was pleased. Still, there had been problems. The first form under the new curriculum had doubled the total enrollment, and the incoming form would nearly double it again. Finding the instructors to handle all of the extra classes had not been easy, and there had been a few more resignations among the older faculty as they saw how the new program was really going to work.

_But there was no mass revolt; that was my biggest fear._

None of the major disasters that _might_ have occurred had done so, but Thayer had to admit that the last thirteen months had been as hectic as anything she had ever experienced while fighting the Peeps. The tremendous variety of problems she had to deal with had come as a surprise, too. It was not like commanding a ship or a squadron where the problems usually fell into routine categories-at least when you were not actually in combat. She had to do everything from hosting the Queen, to soothing irate faculty to wiping the noses of sobbing cadets who were on the verge of flunking out-literally, on one occasion. Fortunately, she had an excellent staff. Lt. Commander Christopher Semancik was a superb adjutant and took a major load off Thayer's shoulders. But there were some things that no one but Thayer could handle.

One of the most difficult tasks, and one she should have anticipated but had not, was dealing with the issue of discipline and the cadets from the Peerage. As she had predicted months ago, the older cadets had been upset to find that they now had to toe the same line as everyone else, and there had been some loud protests. That, she had expected. What she had not expected was just how far the little snots would go in their protests. Some of them had come to her personally to complain-something _she_ would have never dreamed of when she was a cadet. When they got no satisfaction from Thayer, they had gone to their parents, who had in turn gone to the Admiralty. The sheer gall of these people had astounded Thayer. She knew that a lot of the nobility were arrogant and spoiled, but she had never come face to face with it like this before.

Some of them had contacted her directly, and a few-a very few-had even seen her point of view and dropped things then and there. Most, however had gone straight to the top and complained to whichever Space Lord they could get through to. So far the Admiralty had stood by Thayer and shielded her from most of the grief. She knew she was making powerful enemies and she wondered how much longer it would be before some _real_ pressure started to develop.

Worries like those made this current mess with the dormitory that much more aggravating. Thayer, herself, was tempted to lodge a complaint with the Admiralty, but she resisted the urge. First, it would do no good: it was not like they could get a new contractor at this point. More importantly, the Admiralty had far more important things demanding its attention right now. The Peoples' Republic had recently launched a series of surprise counterattacks. Thayer had only gotten the sketchiest information, but it sounded serious. The Admiralty was like a stirred up nest of Sphinxian fire-slugs and they did not need the Commandant of the Academy complaining because her cadets were forced to sleep two to a room!

Thayer sighed and checked the time. She had a meeting coming up unlike anything she had faced so far as Commandant. She looked up at Captain Helen Zilwicki's portrait.

"I've had some unusual duties to perform since I've been here, Helen," she said to the painting, "but none as strange as the one I'm about to. I hope that girl of yours is up to this."

Thayer pressed the com button and her secretary answered.

"Yes, Admiral?"

"You can send the cadets in now, Gwen."

"Right away, Admiral."

"Thank you, Gwen," said Thayer and she closed the circuit.

In a moment the door to her office swung open and three cadets entered. The first one through was Cadet-Major Helen Zilwicki. She was followed by a very tall young man and a much smaller boy. The three of them lined up in front of Thayer's desk, came to attention and saluted. Thayer returned their salute.

"At ease," said Thayer in a friendly voice. "I want to thank you for cutting short your leave to meet with me like this. I also want to assure you that none of you are in any trouble-not even you Mr. Hinsworth."

The three cadets relaxed slightly, but the boy blushed and looked sheepish.

"Please, let's be comfortable." Thayer directed them to the sofa and chairs by the fireplace and rolled over there herself. She summoned a steward to fetch coffee, although the cadets were probably too nervous to want any. At least Cadets McDermott and Hinsworth looked nervous, Helen showed no emotion at all. While they were waiting for the coffee, McDermott and Hinsworth were looking around the room from their seats with great interest at all of the artifacts. McDermott caught sight of the portrait of Captain Helen Zilwicki and looked sharply at the young Helen.

"It's quite a collection, isn't it, Mr. McDermott?" said Thayer. "I've hardly had a chance to really examine more than a fraction of it, myself."

"Yes, ma'am," said McDermott nervously.

"I've been thinking about rotating some of the items to the Academy Museum. It is a shame that so few people get a chance to see these things."

The steward returned and shortly they all had cups of coffee. Thayer looked over the three young people sitting across from her. _McDermott looks like what a cadet should look like,_ thought Thayer, _the other two are just so young!_

"Once again, thank you for coming," began Thayer. "As I said, none of you are in trouble. In fact, I called you here in hopes of keeping a friend of yours _out_ of trouble." The cadets looked puzzled. "I am referring to your roommate, Andreanne Payne."

Looks of concern immediately crossed the faces of the cadets. McDermott seemed particularly anxious.

"Is she all right, Admiral?" he asked.

_Interesting!_ thought Thayer.

"Oh, yes, she's fine. In fact, she should be arriving back on the island with her parents any moment now. Cadet Payne is not in any trouble either, but I am going to ask your help in seeing that she stays out of trouble." The cadets stared at her blankly.

"I'm sure you are all aware that Cadet Payne is from Grayson," continued Thayer. The cadets nodded. "I would imagine that you also know a bit about the society and culture of Grayson and how that makes Cadet Payne's presence here so unusual. What you might not fully appreciate is just how important that makes her. I am sure she never expected this when she applied to the Academy, but a great many people are now taking interest in her progress."

"Naturally, the Navy and the Government of Manticore very much wish her to graduate and receive her commission. For the women of Grayson to be able to participate in their military would be a tremendous increase in the strength of a very important ally. Many people on Grayson, including the Protector and other high ranking officials are also eager for Cadet Payne's success. Unfortunately, there are reactionary elements in Grayson's society who are just as eager for her to fail."

The three cadets sitting in front of Thayer looked surprised. Frowns creased their faces as they considered this.

"As you are probably aware, the alliance with Manticore and the coming of the late Lady Honor Harrington have caused considerable upheaval in Grayson's society. For hundreds of years the women of Grayson were kept as second class citizens. Even today, they still cannot vote or serve in the armed forces and even their rights to own property are severely limited. Protector Mayhew's reforms and the example set by Lady Harrington are bringing about changes to that situation, but there is still much opposition. Cadet Payne is in the process of setting another example that many on Grayson will oppose."

"I do not believe that we need fear any deliberate act to sabotage Cadet Payne and fortunately she is bright and hard working and seems truly dedicated to achieving her goal. However, there are several different ways to measure success or failure. The Grayson's place a great deal of importance on the idea of protecting their women's "virtue". Much of their social structure is geared toward shielding women from what they consider corrupting influences. Sadly, a great many of the more conservative factions on Grayson look at the alliance with Manticore as just such a corrupting influence."

Thayer gave a slight look of distaste and it was mirrored in the faces of the cadets opposite her.

"What that means," said Thayer, "is that even if Cadet Payne graduates and receives her commission, she could still end up failing in the larger sense if she does anything to confirm that we _are_ a corrupting influence."

"Admiral, Anny would never do anything to dishonor the Academy or the Fleet!" blurted out McDermott.

_Very Interesting! This may work better than I'd hoped._

"I'm sure you are correct, Mr. McDermott. But there are things that we would not consider dishonorable that some Graysons might think differently about. How much do you all know about the Grayson's attitudes towards sex?"

To Thayer's surprise, all three cadets blushed fiercely and squirmed in their chairs, but Cadet Hinsworth was obviously trying to suppress a grin . She felt briefly alarmed, but forced herself to relax. _If anything __has__ happened, I have not been able to find out about it, so hopefully no one else could either._

"Uh, they are a lot more conservative than we are, Admiral," said Helen after a moment.

"Yes, they are," said Thayer, trying to keep her curiosity about the cadet's reaction from showing. "While Manticore does not approve of wanton promiscuity, we have no real taboo against sex between unmarried persons. The Graysons do. In fact, they have actual civil laws against it. Sex outside of marriage is considered sinful by their religion and illegal by their courts."

The cadets were shaking their heads and Cadet Hinsworth muttered something under his breath.

"The bottom line is that Cadet Payne is not married. While she is here she cannot get married and therefore, in the eyes of the Graysons, should not be having sex with anyone."

"I have done a bit of research," continued Thayer, "and it seems that in reality, a lot more sex between unmarried persons goes on there than the Graysons would like to admit. However, people in the public eye are expected to live up to their ideal and are harshly criticized if they do not." Thayer paused and stared at the cadets.

"Unfortunately, Cadet Payne is very much in the public eye at the moment."

Cadet McDermott looked upset. "Anny has never...!" he began. He blushed but went on: "I mean Cadet Payne's actions are above reproach, ma'am!" he said earnestly.

"I'm very glad to hear you say that, Mr. McDermott and the reason I've asked the three of you here is to help make sure they stay that way."

_Yes, as incredible as it seems the chastity of Cadet Andreanne Payne has become a matter of national security!_

"We'd be honored to help in this great cause, Admiral," said Cadet Hinsworth speaking up for the first time. Helen looked daggers at him and Thayer suppressed a grin of her own.

"Mr. Hinsworth, I will be the first to admit the humorous aspects of this situation, but I hope you can appreciate the serious issues I've mentioned. I am also counting on the three of you, as friends of Cadet Payne, to help her in this matter." Hinsworth blushed and nodded his head.

"What do you want us to do, Admiral?" asked Helen.

"That is a good question, and I wish I had a definite answer for you," said Thayer. "This may all be unnecessary worry on my part. I am hoping that Cadet Payne realizes the situation as well as we do and will use her good judgment. She may have every intention of avoiding a romance at this stage in her life." Thayer glanced at McDermott who dropped his eyes. _On the other hand, she has already proved, just by being here, that she is willing to challenge Grayson's notions of propriety. I hope her rebellious streak isn't too wide!_

"But it is part of my job to plan for every contingency and try to head off trouble before it happens-and I guess that is about as good a description of what I want from you as I can come up with. Head off trouble before it happens. I have done a little rearrangement of your class schedules and one of you is now in virtually every one of Cadet Payne's classes. You will also be around her in off duty hours. Keep an eye on her, discourage romantic overtures by other cadets, and keep me informed of anything you can't handle."

Thayer looked at the cadets while they digested what she had told them.

"I want you to understand, however, that this is all unofficial. I am not giving you any authority to order Cadet Payne, or anyone else, to cease and desist. If she is determined to carry on a romance neither you or I have any right to stop her. She is not a prisoner here and she has the same rights as any Manticoran citizen. It would be best if she never finds out about this meeting and I ask you not to repeat any of this to anyone else. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Admiral," said Helen, and the others nodded their heads in agreement.

"Excellent! Perhaps you can consider this an exercise in unconventional tactics," said Thayer with a smile.

The cadets smiled in return and seemed to relax. Cadet Hinsworth had a grin that made Thayer shudder slightly. She suddenly felt sorry for any boy that might take a romantic interest in Andreanne Payne!

"There is one other matter," said Thayer and that got the cadets' attention again. "In Grayson society, every girl or woman theoretically has an adult male who is responsible for their safety and well-being. Married women have their husbands, unmarried women have their fathers or brothers or other male relatives. If a woman has to travel away from her usual guardian, a "male protector" will be designated."

"Cadet Payne's father is her guardian under Grayson law, but obviously there is a considerable physical separation between him in Landing and Cadet Payne here on Saganami Island. The Paynes had hoped that there would be no problem with that, but apparently in recent months the opposition on Grayson has started to make an issue of it. It seems incredible that these people could waste time on a thing like this in the middle of a war, but there it is."

"The obvious solution is to appoint a male protector for her while she is here. Unfortunately, I cannot pass the physical and, in fact, none of the instructors or administrators are acceptable because of their responsibilities towards all of the other cadets. What is required is someone who is in close proximity to Cadet Payne on a regular basis. The three of you are the obvious candidates. Ms. Zilwicki, you are disqualified for the same reason I am; that leaves Mr. McDermott and Mr. Hinsworth."

Cadet McDermott seemed to be about to jump out of his seat-as Thayer had expected-but she continued before he had a chance.

"Cadet Hinsworth, your lineage would be quite impressive, but I'm afraid your youth and small stature makes you a rather unconvincing guardian. Mr. McDermott, on the other hand, fits the requirements to a tee. How about it, Patric? Would you consider being Cadet Payne's male protector?"

"Yes, ma'am!" said the young man, far too enthusiastically. "I'd be happy to!"

"I rather thought you might," grinned Thayer. "I might add that Cadet Payne has been brought into the loop on this aspect of things. She has discussed this with her father and I'm told that she specifically requested that you be chosen." The boy's grin looked like it would split his head in two.

"You realize that your 'male protector' position will be strictly for form's sake. You will not actually be expected to be Cadet Payne's bodyguard." Thayer paused and then looked closely at the cadet. "Mr. McDermott, I am counting on you not to become part of the problem we were discussing earlier," said Thayer, fixing the young man with her gaze. "It is obvious that you have some feelings for Cadet Payne-don't let them ruin what she is trying to accomplish."

"Yes, Admiral, uh, that is, no, Admiral, I won't," said McDermott whose grin had vanished. He sat there looking very thoughtful.

"Very good," continued Thayer. "As I said, Cadet Payne and her parents should be on the island by now. There is some brief ceremony involved in making you Cadet Payne's protector, Mr. McDermott. I have invited the Payne's to dinner at my residence, and I now invite the three of you as well. Hopefully I can make up for dragging you back here from your leaves six hours early."

The cadets agreed enthusiastically-not that they were likely to refuse-and the four of them left the office together. As Thayer rolled past Captain Zilwicki's portrait, she glanced up at it. _Yes, Helen, I've had to do some strange things in this job!_

**Chapter Eight**

**C**adet Andreanne Payne leaned back against the cool stone and looked out on the dazzling waters of Silver Gulf. _What a glorious day!_ she thought. The blue sky was almost cloudless and the sun reflected off the indigo waters that surrounded Saganami Island. The lush, green vegetation rushed down the hills to meet the sea along gleaming white beaches. Birds wheeled overhead and a gentle breeze ruffled Anny's long brown hair.

As beautiful as the view was, Anny Payne was glad for the two tall rows of trees to her right and left that blocked off three-quarters of the world from her. Like most natives of the planet Grayson, she was a bit of an agoraphobe. Grayson was an even more beautiful world than Manticore, but that beauty hid a deadly threat. Grayson was extraordinarily rich in heavy metals and they were in everything. The ground, the water, the plants, even the dust in the air itself could be toxic to humans. The Grayson's lived in tightly controlled environments and being outside was synonymous with danger. Every child was trained from a very early age to stay indoors and never go out without protective clothing. Anny had lived on Manticore for the last ten years, but those earlier years of strict training had left their mark. She loved being able to go outdoors without fear, but the fear was still there.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back to feel the warm sunshine and the cooling breeze on her face together. After a few moments she sighed and looked down at her compad and forced herself to continue reading.

"Hi! I thought I'd find you up here," said a voice. Anny looked up and saw Patric McDermott walking towards her along a path that came through the row of trees to her right. Anny smiled.

"Hi, Patric! How are you doing?"

"Pretty good," he answered. He walked over and sat down on the grass beside her. "That's quite a climb to get up here."

"Yes, I know," she answered with a grin. "That's why I like this spot-not too many people want to make the climb."

Patric grinned back at her. "It _is_ nice to get away from the mob in the dorms for a while."

"How are you and Alby getting along?" asked Anny.

"Oh, not too bad. I'm liking the little twerp better as time goes by. Kind of amazing when I think how I wanted to strangle him that first day we were here."

Anny laughed at the memory. The cadets were now living two to a room because of the delay in the completion of the new dormitory. Patric and Alby were in one room while Helen and Anny were in another. Four other cadets from 'C' Company were in the other two rooms. It was not too bad an arrangement-except for the situation with the bathroom.

"Are you getting along with Helen?" asked Patric.

"Oh yes! No problems at all really, except..."

"Except what?" prompted Patric.

"Well... she talks in her sleep," said Anny quietly.

"Keeping you awake, is she?" said Patric with a grin.

"It's not just that," replied Anny, and there was no amusement in her voice. "She has nightmares, too-bad ones."

"Oh," said Patric, suddenly serious as well.

Anny sighed. "I don't know what to make of Helen, Patric. I'm coming to love her like my own sister, but there is so much anger inside her. I won't repeat some of the things she has said in her sleep, but it's enough to give _me_ nightmares."

"I guess losing her mother must have really hurt her," said Patric.

"She's hurting inside, that's for sure," agreed Anny, "but there's more than that. She hates the Peeps, Patric. She hates them and wants to hurt them. One time I woke up and she was standing on her bed in one of her martial arts positions. I turned on the light and her eyes were wide open but she was still asleep. She was fighting someone in her dream. I was afraid to move."

"Wow. You would think the psych people could do something for her," said Patric with a frown.

"I wish someone could do something for her."

"Well, it should only be another week or two before we get our own rooms back," said Patric.

"That won't stop Helen's nightmares," said Anny.

Patric was silent for a while. He looked out on the same vista Anny had been admiring.

"Quite a view from up here," he said. "A real updraft, too where the wind hits the hillside. I guess that's why they did the hang-gliding from here."

"Yes," agreed Anny, "and that's why they put this here, too." She indicated the stone they were leaning against with a jerk of her head.

Patric got to his feet and turned to regard what Anny had been referring to. She got up as well and stood beside him. The stone was a huge block of carved Sphinxian granite, its distinct coppery color sparkling in the sunshine. The block was nearly two meters tall and on top of it was a bronze statue of a person that was twice life size. The statue was of a woman dressed in a naval uniform. She had short hair and a proud, noble face. On her shoulder was a Sphinxian treecat. The woman and the 'cat were looking out over Silver Gulf and their gazes seemed to be resting on something beyond this world; beyond the reach of mortal eyes. Carved into the granite were the words:

Honor Stephanie Harrington

and "Nimitz"

Commodore, Royal Manticoran Navy

257 A.L. - 286 A.L.

"Let's Be About It"

The statue was new; it had been erected here only a few weeks before Anny and Patric had first come to Saganami Island. The bronze had not had time to acquire much of a patina and it gleamed like gold. On the other three sides of the granite base were bronze tablets chronicling the career and achievements of one of Manticore's greatest heroes. In addition to her many military accomplishments, Harrington held the Academy hang gliding record. With hang gliding discontinued from the curriculum, she might hold it for all time. Anny and Patric stared at the statue in silence for several minutes.

"She was really something, wasn't she?" Patric said at last in a whisper.

"Oh yes," whispered Anny in reply, "someone like her comes along only once in a century-once in a lifetime."

"I guess you really admire her," said Patric in a more normal voice.

Anny looked at him and smiled a sad smile. "It's more than that, Patric. You can admire her as a great naval hero, but you can't really understand what Lady Harrington meant to me-or to many of the women of Grayson. No one who's not from Grayson can really understand. She saved our world, Patric, not once, but twice. She owed us nothing, but she saved us anyway. The things she did would have been extraordinary for anyone, but the fact that she was a woman..." Anny trailed off.

"Is she why you wanted to come to the Academy, Anny?" asked Patric.

"One of the reasons, maybe the main reason." She turned away and took several steps and then stopped and looked into the distance as if mimicking the statue.

"You said you would tell me about it someday. How about now?"

Anny turned back to look at Patric. After a moment a faint smile reappeared on her face. She walked back to the base of the statue and sat down where she had been before. Patric came and sat beside her again.

"All right," said Anny, "but you first."

"Me first, what?" asked Patric, in surprise.

"First you tell me why _you_ came to the Academy."

Patric shrugged his broad shoulders. "There's not much to tell. I've always been fascinated with ships and the Navy. I decided I wanted to become a part of this, so I did."

"'You wanted to become a part of this, so you did'. You make it seem so natural. Like you wanted to wear a pair of black socks today, so you did. It wasn't quite that easy for me, Patric," said Anny.

"Were your parents against you coming here?"

"Well, they took some convincing," said Anny with a small laugh. Her smile faded quickly. "And unlike you, I _had_ to convince my father. If he had said 'no', I would not be here-no matter what Manticoran law might say."

"That's hard to imagine," said Patric, shaking his head. "It seems so unfair, so..."

"Primitive? Barbaric?" suggested Anny. She saw the embarrassment in Patric's face and she smiled. "I know you don't mean to insult my people, but that's really what a lot of Manticorans think, isn't it?"

"I guess maybe so," admitted Patric slowly. "That's not very tolerant of _us_, is it?"

"Intolerant of intolerance?" said Anny, and she laughed again. "I suppose there are worse flaws to have." She quickly became serious.

"Grayson is a very strict society, Patric. Our world is cruel and the early days of the colony were very difficult. We needed strictness to survive. Everyone-men and women-had their place. After a while, that strictness became a habit-even after the original need was gone. But now, people are starting to question the old ways. Protector Mayhew was beginning to make changes even before the alliance with Manticore. Then Lady Harrington came to Grayson and showed us that a woman could do anything that a man could do. A lot of Graysons did not want to accept that, but Lady Harrington has shown us the truth and there is no way that can be undone now-even though she is gone."

Patric said quietly: "You must really hate the Peeps for what they did."

Anny was silent for a few seconds. " I suppose I do, but I don't think I hate them the way Helen does-at least I hope not. When the Peeps captured Lady Harrington I had already decided to try and come to the Academy. I had fantasies of someday being with the force that rescued her from the prison camp. Then when they executed her..." her voice choked with the memory of the tears.

"I'm sorry, Anny," said Patric.

"It hurt me a lot," she said shaking her head sadly, "and there are times when the hurt turns to anger. But it doesn't last. If I try, I can get really mad about it, but it's not laying inside me, burning, the way it is with Helen." She looked up at Patric and forced a smile.

"I've never been able to hold a grudge. My mothers always thought that was a character flaw in me. They say everyone should be able to hold a good grudge when they need to... why is that funny?" Patric was grinning and Anny looked at him curiously.

"Oh, it's not funny that you can't hold a grudge, I'm sort of that way myself, it was the way you said: 'mothers', that still seems so strange to me."

"Strange that I have two mothers?" said Anny with a feigned show of indignity. "What's wrong with having two mothers?"

"Oh, nothing, I suppose," said Patric innocently. "It just takes some getting used to."

"Like a Grayson girl at Saganami Academy? You Mono-Maternals are all alike: so intolerant!" said Anny with a grin.

"'Mono-Maternals'? Is that what you call us?"

"No, I just made that up now," said Anny.

Patric grinned in turn. "Doesn't it make a difference which mother is really...?"

"You mean which one is my biological mother?" asked Anny. "Well, I know which one that is, if that's what you mean. But I love both of them equally, and they both love me like their own child. My brother and sisters _are_ my brother and sisters no matter which womb they came out of. Family means everything to us Graysons and living here on Manticore for ten years has not changed that."

"It changed you enough to want to come to the Academy," observed Patric.

"I guess it did, didn't it?" admitted Anny. "My father is one of the progressives who support the reforms-that's why he was sent here in the first place. He enrolled all of us in the best private schools in Landing and I guess that's where I picked up my radical ideas. I was a huge fan of Lady Harrington for years-my father admired her too, by the way. Then one day a girl in my class mentioned that she was going to try and come to the Academy when she was old enough and I suddenly thought: 'Why couldn't I do that too?'"

"What did your father say?" asked Patric.

"Well, that was about three T-years ago and it was quite a while before I had the nerve to mention it to my parents. At first they just laughed. Then when they realized I was serious they said 'no'. But I kept bringing it up and giving them reasons why they should let me, and I guess I wore them down," said Anny with a small smile.

Her smile faded. "I think when Lady Harrington was executed was when my father changed his mind," she said quietly. "We had a long talk and in the end he gave me permission to take the entrance exams. I think that maybe he did not really believe I could pass the exams, but when I did, he was proud of me." Anny's voice sank to a whisper and tears glistened in her eyes.

"I'll bet he was. Your father seems like a very good man, Anny. I liked him when we met at the Commandant's House."

"He likes you too, Patric," said Anny, smiling and looking at her friend. "He would not have made you my 'male protector' if he didn't." Patric blushed and looked down at the ground.

"You're not sorry I wanted you as my 'male protector' are you, Patric?"

"Oh no!" said Patric hastily. "I'm really glad! I know it's quite an honor, although I probably don't appreciate how much of an honor, the way a Grayson would."

"It _is_ an honor, Patric," said Anny, "it is an indication of complete trust on the part of my father. Trust like that doesn't come easily, even between Graysons. And considering what a 'corrupting influence' you Manticorans are..."

Patric looked at her sharply and Anny looked back with a mischievous expression.

"But..." Patric began.

"Those were Admiral Thayer's words, weren't they?" asked Anny and a sly grin grew on her face. "Don't worry, Alby did not spill the beans, and it wasn't even Helen talking in her sleep. It was my father. He and Admiral Thayer had several long talks about me and my...situation. Admiral Thayer intended to keep the fact that you and Alby and Helen would be guarding my honor a secret, but there are no secrets between me and my father."

Patric's look of surprise slowly turned to thoughtfulness.

"What about between a 'male protector' and his charge?" he asked after a few moments.

Anny was surprised. She had not expected this question-at least not this soon. She blushed and looked away. _Oh my! Maybe I should not have said anything, _she thought. Before she could come up with any response, Patric continued.

"I really like you, Anny, you know that don't you? I might even be in love with you. Is a 'male protector' allowed to love the woman he's guarding?"

"It's been known to happen," Anny answered hesitantly. She was silent for a few seconds and then reached out and gently touched Patric's cheek.

"Dear Patric," she whispered. "All right, no secrets. I really like you, too. Maybe I even love you, I'm not sure yet." She let her hand drop and she turned away slightly and hugged her knees up to her chest. Patric said nothing, but continued to look at her.

"I'm not expecting anything, Anny," he said after a while. "I promised the Admiral and I swore an oath to your father, and I intend to fulfill both of them. But I just wanted you to know how I feel."

Anny Payne looked up and smiled at the young man sitting next to her. A powerful feeling of attraction filled her. _I think I do love him,_ she thought. _What a strange situation! Any other time or place I'd be thrilled to have him interested in me. He's kind and gentle and handsome...and sexy._ She suppressed a giggle at the memory of seeing Patric coming out of the shower. _But here and now can I afford to love him? Can I let him love me? I expected a lot of challenges at the Academy, but I never thought about this one!_

"I guess we may have a problem, Patric," she said at last. "We both have destinies waiting for us and as much as we both might want it, I don't think becoming lovers fits into that right now."

Patric smiled a grim smile and nodded his head. "You are right, Anny. I'm willing to wait if you are. But we can still be friends."

Anny nodded enthusiastically in return. "Yes, friends always, Patric. Nothing can ever change that. The Tester knows where we will end up, but you will always be my friend."

Patric looked away. He did not seem too hurt, but Anny continued to stare at him. After a bit he looked back at her. "'The Tester', that's the name of your god?" he asked.

"Well, that's what we often call him," answered Anny, glad to have a change of subject. "He really is just 'God', but 'The Tester' is a commonly used expression."

"You are a member of 'The Church of Humanity Unchained', do I have that right?" asked Patric.

"Yes, that's it. Our religion is very important to us, too. I guess you know that Grayson was originally settled by a group of religious separatists."

"I've been doing some reading up on Grayson since I met you, Anny," said Patric with a smile. "It must be a little difficult to find a church to go to around here, though."

"The embassy in Landing has its own chapel and chaplain. It's true that there is not one here on the island, but I do go over to the Academy Chapel to pray when I feel the need."

"And you call your god 'The Tester'?"

"Yes," replied Anny, "part of our belief is that God presents us with a series of challenges during our lives. How we meet those tests will determine how He judges us."

"And if you fail, you go to Hell or something? I hope those mid-terms I had last form were not part of _my _test!"

Anny laughed. "I hope not, too. Actually, the question of what happens to those that fail their tests is a major matter of theological debate on Grayson. Some believe that those who fail do go to Hell, while others believe they have to keep taking the test over until they pass."

"What do you believe?"

"I'm not really sure," answered Anny. "Our God is a stern and demanding god, but he is a loving god, too. I can't see Him casting people into Hell because of their frailties. Still, my beliefs are pretty unorthodox compared to some."

"Well, I know what a radical you are..." said Patric with a grin.

"Yes, I _am_ a bit of a troublemaker, aren't I?" said Anny, grinning back. After a moment her face became serious again. "It's pretty scary sometimes. I never really thought about the uproar I might cause. This was something I just wanted to do for myself-and for her."

"You are doing great, Anny, I'm sure she'd be proud of you," said Patric.

"I hope so," replied Anny and she sighed. She rested her chin on her knees and gazed out to sea. "Sometimes I have doubts if I can really do this."

"But you are doing great in your classes," protested Patric.

"It's not just the classes. There's more to being an officer than just knowing the answers to test questions. I don't know if I have that."

Patric looked at her for a while. "You've been kind of down in the dumps for a couple of weeks now. Don't deny it! We 'male protectors' notice that sort of thing! What's the problem? Out with it! as Chief Seaton would say."

"Oh, it's nothing really," said Anny, "just something that happened up on _Hephaestus_."

"When you went up to fetch down the new cadets?"

"Yes. I had about a hundred cadets to ride herd on. Most of them were fine. You remember what it was like on arrival day."

"Sure," said Patric, "I was nervous and excited. You mean some of them gave you trouble? Wow, I never would have dared to cross Cadet Lathrap!"

"That's just what I mean. There was one kid, probably noble born from the look of him, he just would not pay any attention to me. It was like he sensed I couldn't enforce my authority," said Anny shaking her head. "At one point I had to threaten to call Security if he would not shut up and do what he was told."

"Well, some of the nobility are pretty stuck up."

"That shouldn't make any difference! I can't expect to have a marine in battle armor follow me around to back me up. How can I be an officer if I can't get people to follow my orders?"

"Command is not an easy thing, Anny. We are just Second Form, we have a lot to learn yet," said Patric in an encouraging tone.

"I just hope I can learn it," said Anny, not much encouraged. She continued to stare out at the ocean, but then she smiled and looked at Patric.

"When I was home on leave, do you know what my brother Jeremiah said?" asked Anny. Patric shook his head. "Jerry's about five T-years old, and he said that when he grew up he wanted to go to the Academy just like his big sister! My mothers nearly cried-I did too. I guess I can't let Jerry down, can I?"

"No you can't," said Patric with a big smile. He looked at his chrono. "We better be getting back, there's an inspection in less than an hour."

They got to their feet and slowly walked away from the statue, through the line of trees and down the hill. Their drill instructor would have approved of the way they carefully stayed in step, but he would have noted that their distance from each other was much less than the twenty centimeters prescribed by the regulations.

**Chapter Nine**

**A**nny Payne pulled back on the stick and her _Javelin_ Advanced Trainer shot skyward. The gee forces pushed her back into her seat until she could hardly move and her vision turned slightly red. In any other situation it would have been highly uncomfortable, but right now it was heaven. She pushed the stick to the side and slightly forward and worked the control pedals at the same time. The _Javelin_ rolled sharply to the left and then leveled off and shot away.

"Yahoo!" shouted Anny to no one in particular. She checked her sensor display. There was a lot of jamming, but she knew her quarry was out there somewhere. She began a random series of turns and altitude changes, quickly flicking her eyes between her sensor displays and the view through the canopy. The feeling of power and freedom she had was just amazing.

Anny Payne had always liked flying and she had done well on the basic trainers she had flown during her first form. But the first time she'd been allowed in a _Javelin_ she knew she had found her perfect match. The aircraft was like a part of her and she could make it do things that even surprised her instructors.

She completed another turn. _Where is that little devil?_ Her opponent had to be close by, but she could not see through the jamming. Anny wished she were as proficient with the sensors as she was with the _Javelin_. She knew it was possible to get better results than the automatic mode was giving her, but she was not that good with the equipment yet.

After a moment the sensor display pointed out a possible contact off to her left. She looked that way, but there was a huge bank of clouds only a few klicks off.

"Hiding, eh? Well, I guess I'll just have to go in after you!"

Anny turned her craft and headed into the clouds. The sensor contact got closer, but it did not get any stronger or clearer. She was just beginning to have doubts about what she was chasing when her sensors burned through the jamming.

"Decoy!" she exclaimed aloud. She instantly changed course, but a loud buzzing on her Threat Alarm told her she had been suckered. The hunter had become the hunted. _Behind me!_

Anny did not panic, she rolled the _Javelin_ onto its back and then pulled the stick towards her to send her craft straight down at eleven hundred kilometers an hour. She knew that her opponent had a deadly aim and would only need one clear shot to finish her. Anny had no intention of giving her foe that clear shot.

One quick glance at the sensors told Anny that her pursuer had nosed over and was screaming down on her tail. She let two heartbeats pass and then she slammed the countergravity unit on full. She dropped her flaps and pulled back hard on the stick.

The tactics she and her foe were using were little changed from those used two millennia earlier when craft similar to Anny's _Javelin_ had ruled the skies of Old Earth. But if any pilot of that era had tried the move Anny Payne was doing, he would have torn his plane apart. Fortunately, the _Javelins_ were made of considerably sterner stuff. In fact, they were considerably tougher than the pilots flying them.

Anny's maneuver put the plane into a flat spin and dropped her speed from eleven hundred kilometers an hour to less than three hundred in the blink of an eye. Anny started to gray-out with the gees, but she clung to consciousness. Her foe was right behind her, and she was a sitting duck. But that was what she was counting on.

Before the enemy could fire, the Automatic Collision Avoidance System went into action and wrenched the nose of the enemy craft-and its laser-away from Anny's spinning ship. The enemy had not even flashed past her yet, but Anny had already killed the countergrav, raised her flaps and put the engines on full. She came out of the spin and was now on the enemy's tail.

_Tricky my friend, but not tricky enough!_

Anny lined up the enemy in her sights and pushed the firing stud.

She missed.

The enemy craft began to maneuver violently, but Anny stuck with it and fired again.

And missed again. _Damn!_

The hurtling pair broke through the clouds and the blue ocean sparkled far below. Anny took a deep breath and carefully lined up the target again. She paused and then pulled the stick slightly. Just as she did, the target veered and slid right into Anny's sights. She pushed the stud and a loud chime sounded in her earphones.

"Gotcha!" she shouted.

Anny Payne pulled her _Javelin_ out of its dive and then did a quick victory roll. _Four out of five! Oh yes!_ she exulted.

"Training Flight Delta, this is Saganami Control. Your mission is complete, return to base. Nice work, Delta Two!" said a voice over Anny's com unit.

"Roger, Saganami Control, instructions received, returning to base," said Anny, trying not to sound too excited.

Anny, turned her craft toward home. The jamming was gone now, and her late foe was coming up beside her on her right. The other _Javelin_ closed in tight and Anny could see the pilot through the canopy. Helen Zilwicki waved to her and gave her a 'thumbs up' gesture.

Anny switched to the open channel. "That was some fight, Helen!" she said to Delta One.

"I almost had you that last time!" answered Helen Zilwicki. "That was a sweet move, Anny! You are going to have to teach me that one."

"I will when I figure out what I did."

"Cut the chatter, Delta Flight." said a voice that the pair recognized as their instructor, Commander Atkinson. "We'll figure out what you did in debriefing, Ms. Payne."

"Aye aye, ma'am," said Anny and Helen in unison. Anny was grinning ear to ear all the way back to Kreskin Field.

After she and Helen had turned their _Javelins_ over to the ground crews and stored their flight gear, the two of them entered one of the debriefing rooms where Commander Margaret Atkinson and a half dozen other cadets were waiting. They found seats and then tried to pay attention to the recorded performances of Alpha, Beta and Gamma flights. Anny was slightly surprised at how amateurish the other mock combats seemed compared to hers and Helen's. _Maybe we are something special, _she thought.

Finally, it was their turn. Atkinson analyzed the five dogfights that Helen and Anny had fought, but found very little to criticize. When she got to the last fight, she halted the holo-display at the point where Anny had turned the tables on Helen.

"Ms. Payne, that was a very interesting maneuver. I've seen other pilots use their countergravity generators in a fight, but never quite like this," said the Commander. "By ensuring that both yourself and your opponent were diving-and thus adding the planet's gravity to both accelerations-you were able to decelerate even more sharply once you cut in the CG. Where did you learn to do that?"

"Uh, I'm not really sure I learned it anywhere, ma'am," said Anny nervously. "It just seemed like a logical thing to do."

"I see. Ms. Zilwicki, would you have thought of that?"

"No, ma'am, it took me completely by surprise-but I'll sure remember it next time!" said Helen with a grin.

Atkinson turned to the holo display controls and called up another image that she superimposed over the tiny, frozen _Javelins_. "This is your bio-readout at this point in the combat, Ms. Payne. Thirteen gravities. You were pretty close to blacking out weren't you?"

"I was starting to 'gray', yes, ma'am," said Anny.

"An important point, ladies and gentlemen! Your machines are far tougher than you are. A _Javelin_ can stand accelerations that would kill its pilot. There are built in safety features that _should_ prevent you from killing yourselves, but don't take that for granted." Anny and the rest of the cadets looked properly sobered, but inside her, Anny was still grinning.

"There is another interesting lesson to be learned from Delta Flight's combats," continued Atkinson. "Ms. Payne, your sensors were on automatic throughout all five dogfights. Why was that?"

"I... I'm not that proficient with the sensors yet, ma'am," said Anny and her internal grin vanished.

"Yet you managed to win four out of five combats. Ms. Zilwicki, you were using your sensors on manual a good deal of the time. Your tactics were also excellent. In three of the fights you clearly achieved some degree of surprise and had a superior position over Ms. Payne. Yet you lost four out of five. How do you account for that?"

"Ms. Payne is a better pilot than I am, ma'am," said Helen without hesitation. Anny felt a warm glow of affection for Helen. Not just because of the compliment, but because she had the honesty to say it.

The tiniest of grins played over Atkinson's face as she regarded Helen and Anny. "Superior technique versus natural skill. That's a tough call. Cadet Payne clearly has a very great natural flying skill. Cadet Zilwicki is a fine tactician and has trained herself to get the most out of her equipment. So far natural skill has won out. Ms. Zilwicki, do you expect your piloting skills to improve with more practice?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do."

"With those better skills, do you think you'll be able to beat Ms. Payne?"

"I imagine so, ma'am-assuming she does not get any better."

The tiny grin became a bigger one. "You are not going to make this easy for me, are you, Cadet? The point I'm trying to make here, class-and the point that Ms. Zilwicki keeps snatching away from me-is that while it is wonderful to have natural skill, you can't count on it. Cadet Payne is an excellent natural pilot, but she could be even more effective if she trained herself more thoroughly on the equipment. I cannot expect all of you to have her flying skills. I _can_ expect you to train! Learn to know your equipment. Learn how to get the most out of it. Then when you meet up with some flying fiend like Ms. Payne, you can still wax their tail."

Anny's head had shrunk down to nearly its normal size, but she still felt very good about her performance.

"Ms. Payne," said Atkinson, "in spite of my disparaging remarks concerning your flying skills, I am still very impressed. Ms. Zilwicki, the same goes for you. In two weeks we will be proceeding to formation combat. I want both of you as flight leaders at that time. Ms. Payne I am also making you an assistant flight instructor."

"T-Thank you, ma'am," said Anny and Helen echoed her. Anny was surprised, and a stab of fear went through her. _Am I ready for this?_ All the elation drained out of her in the face of her doubts.

"No need to thank me, you've earned it," said Atkinson who did not notice Anny's changed expression. "That is all for today, class dismissed."

A little while later Anny and Helen were walking back towards the Cadet Dormitory from Kreskin Field.

"Don't mind what Atkinson said, Anny, you can learn to use the sensors, I can never learn to fly the way you do," said Helen. "Every time I thought I had you, you would slip away and turn the tables. The one time I did get you was just a lucky shot."

"Ha! Don't 'lucky shot' me, Cadet-Major! I was the one who was lucky to win four out of five. You're the best tactician and the best shot in the whole Academy!" countered Anny.

Helen shrugged and smiled. "Well, there's no point in arguing over who's the best this or that. I'll be happy to have you as my wingman any day, Anny. And there's no one I'd rather have at Helm in the sims either."

"Thanks, Helen. Coming from you, that really means a lot," said Anny, and she meant it.

They walked on in silence for a few minutes. They came to the Hopewell Athletic Field and stopped to watch the soccer team practicing.

"Anny, can I ask you something?" said Helen after a while.

"Sure, but who's asking: my roommate, my battalion commander, or my wingman?" replied Anny.

"A little of all three, I guess. I've been meaning to talk to you for a while about this and what happened just now reminded me of it."

"What happened just now?" asked Anny, puzzled.

"When Atkinson named you a flight leader. All the blood drained right out of your face. She didn't notice it, but I did. Why don't you want to be a flight leader?"

Anny looked down at the ground, blushing hotly. She didn't know how to answer Helen.

"It's not just that either," continued Helen. "Your grades are excellent, you are in the top ten percent of the class ranking, but you've refused any sort of cadet rank. Even allowing for the spots reserved for the nobility, you should be a company lieutenant or at least a sergeant. You turned it down when I was your company commander back in our first form and you turned it down again two months ago. What gives, Anny?"

Anny chewed on her lip, realized what she was doing and stopped. She looked at Helen and then looked away. She opened her mouth to give the same excuses she had given to her advisor, then stopped again. She remembered Helen's frank answer to Commander Atkinson just a short while ago: _'she's a better pilot than I am' _and Anny realized she could not lie to Helen. She took a deep breath.

"I'm afraid, Helen."

"Afraid?" said Helen in genuine surprise. "The girl who deliberately puts her ship into a thirteen gee spin is telling me she's afraid?"

"That's not the same thing. I was only responsible for myself then. I'm not sure I have what it takes to be in charge of others, Helen. I'm afraid."

Helen Zilwicki looked at her friend for a few moments, then pulled Anny over to a bench and they sat down.

"Anny, they are training us to be officers here. How can you be an officer without being in charge of people?"

Anny shuffled her feet. It was a small relief to be able to talk to someone about the fear that had been eating at her, but it still was not easy.

"I don't know, Helen," she said. "You are right, of course, but every time I think about being in command of someone it just gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"The what?" said Helen with a puzzled grin.

"Huh? Oh. That's just an expression. It means I get very nervous."

Helen was silent for a few moments. "Anny, this is something more important than learning to use the _Javelins'_ sensors. If you are going to be an officer you have to be able to give orders." Helen paused for a second. "Do you think your...upbringing has anything to do with this?"

"You mean the fact that I'm a Grayson woman?" asked Anny. "I guess it probably does. Some Grayson women, like the wives of steadholders, have tremendous authority, but most of us never have an opportunity for any sort of leadership. Girls are trained to find husbands and raise children."

"But you have lived on Manticore for ten years," said Helen.

"I know," said Anny miserably, "but my mothers still trained me for a traditional Grayson lifestyle-they never expected for me to come to the Academy!"

"I don't see that it's a matter of training you as a child, it's a matter of confidence, and what you learn here," said Helen.

"Yes, it's a matter of confidence. And I don't have any."

"Well, we've got to do something about that, Anny-and soon."

"It seems so easy for you, Helen. I watch you out in front of the battalion, shouting orders. Everyone obeys you without hesitation. I feel like if I were to try that, everyone would just laugh at me."

"Well, it's not as easy as it looks, believe me!" said Helen with a small smile. "The first time I went out in front of the battalion, I was so nervous, I could hardly walk! But it's like Colonel DuPique says: if you know your stuff and act confident, people will follow you without question. Speaking of which, how are you doing in DuPique's class?"

"All right, I guess," said Anny. "I do fine on the tests and written assignments-I know the theory of all this, Helen, it's just actually doing it that's so hard." Anny started biting her lip again. "DuPique has said a couple of things to me; I think he knows the trouble I'm having, but he's not going to flunk me or anything."

"No, I doubt if he would," said Helen. Anny looked sharply at the girl sitting next to her. She thought she knew what Helen meant.

"You mean he's not going to flunk me because it's politically important to have me pass!" said Anny angrily. Helen flinched and looked hurt.

"Oh, I'm not mad at you, Helen," said Anny disgustedly. "I'm mad at myself for not being able to do this! And the fact that I won't be flunked because of it makes it that much worse. They'll pamper me along and see to it that I graduate. They'll give me the diploma and make me an ensign and send me up to the Fleet." Anny's voice was getting squeaky and tears were forming in her eyes, but she continued to talk. "And then everyone will say how proud they are of me and what a credit I am to Grayson-and it will all be a lie! I won't be an officer! I'll just be this scared little girl in a uniform that everyone is pretending is an officer!" Anny kicked at the grass and looked away, trying not to cry. It had been building up in her for months. The doubts. The fears. Now it was coming out in a rush.

Anny looked back and saw that Helen was staring at her intently. _What's she thinking? Will she still be my friend now that she knows what a coward I am? She's the bravest person I've ever met. Nothing stops her. She's like Lady Harrington._

"Anny," said Helen after a few more moments, "we are going to work on this. You had the guts to come to the Academy when the whole universe said you should not. You had the brains and courage to make it this far. You are not going to give up now! We all got together to help Patric when he was having trouble last form, and now we are going to help you."

Anny was incredibly grateful for Helen's words. She sniffed a few times and then smiled a faint smile. "Okay, Cadet-Major, what are your orders, ma'am?"

"That's better! First off, you are going to take that flight leader position and the assistant instructor position and you are going to be great at them. You are the best damn pilot on this island, and it won't be long before everyone knows it. Only a fool will question what you order them to do. Once you've got some experience at leading a flight, I'll see about getting you an NCO position in the battalion. We'll build up your confidence and make a real officer out of you!"

Anny Payne looked at her friend and smiled. "Thank you, Helen," she said quietly, "thank you."

"No problem," said Helen, getting to her feet. Anny got up as well, and they continued walking. Anny was feeling much better than she had in weeks. She had kept trying to put off or ignore her problem, but now that she had confronted it, she felt an enormous relief. She glanced at Helen and thought about what a good friend she was and how lucky she was to have her. A small pang of guilt and worry came to Anny. They were no longer in the same room now that the second section of the dorm had been completed, but she still worried about Helen's nightmares. After all Helen had done for her, Anny wanted to repay her somehow.

"Helen?" said Anny after a while.

"Yes?"

"What are your plans for your next leave?"

Helen laughed. "Getting a little ahead of yourself aren't you? We have another four months to go in this form and then a one month training cruise before our next leave!"

"I know, but I was just wondering, what with your father out-system now."

"Yeah, it's the first time he's accepted an out-system posting since... in a long time," said Helen. "I guess now that I'm out of the house he feels like he can leave Manticore now and then. I had not really thought about the leave. Of course I could just go home-I _am_ old enough to be alone in the house now-or I could go visit relatives. I have two sets of grandparents and assorted aunts, uncles and cousins scattered here and there."

"Would you like to come and stay with me and my family for a while, Helen?" asked Anny tentatively.

Helen stopped and looked at Anny for a moment. "I think I'd like that, Anny, thank you-as long as I would not be any trouble."

"Oh, no trouble at all!" said Anny happily. "My parents have already met you and I've told my brother and sisters all about you in my letters. Oh, this will be grand! I can hardly wait!"

"Well, as long as it is okay with your parents, I'd love to come," said Helen, smiling.

"They'll love to have you!" said Anny in growing enthusiasm. "I know my father was very impressed with you when you met him at the Commandant's house. And my mothers would love to see you again, too. You will be just like one of our family! Gee, since I have _two_ mothers and you...you..."

Anny's elation turned to horror in a split second. _Oh Sweet Tester! What have I done!? What a stupid thing to say!_

Helen had gone completely still and was staring at Anny with unblinking eyes. As Anny watched a half dozen emotions seemed to flicker over Helen's face and then vanish.

"Oh, Helen!" gasped Anny. "I'm so sorry!" Instinctively, Anny reached out and embraced Helen. She pulled her close and whispered: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over again. Helen was as rigid as if she were made of stone. She did not return Anny's embrace, but she did not resist it either. It seemed to Anny like she was trembling, but she could not be sure if it was Helen or herself. A long minute went by and the two remained standing where they were with Anny's arms around Helen. Anny was about to loosen her grip and step back when a laughing female voice suddenly intruded.

"Well, well! Cadet Andreanne Payne getting a hug from her battalion commander, how touching!"

Anny and Helen sprang apart and stared at the source of the voice. Five cadets were standing there, watching them with unpleasant grins on their faces. The one who had spoken was a girl of medium height and reddish hair. Her face was so pretty and mature that it was probably the result of some very expensive bio-sculpture.

"Hey, you know how these Grayson girls are, Sandra: take 'em away from their dolls and they get all insecure," smirked one of the others, a tall boy with dark hair.

"She's just lucky she's got such a considerate officer watching over her-_my_ battalion commander has never given _me_ a hug!" said the first girl. The group all laughed loudly and then walked away.

Anny and Helen stood and watched them leave and then Helen said:

"Who the hell was that?" in an amazed and angry tone.

"That was Lady Sandra Bennett and some of her cronies," said Anny quietly. "She's in Third Battalion."

"You know her?" asked Helen incredulously.

"I've had a few run-ins with her, before. I don't think she likes me."

"What? Why not? Everybody likes you, Anny!" protested Helen.

"That's probably why," replied Anny. Her eyes still on the departing group.

"What do you mean? I don't understand," asked Helen.

Anny shook herself and smiled a shaky smile at Helen. "If you were a Grayson girl, you'd understand."

"Well, not being a Grayson girl, perhaps you'd explain for my benefit?"

Anny laughed sourly. "You know, Helen, for all Manticore's pride at having abolished gender-based stereotypes, I've seen an awful lot of things here that seem very familiar. On Grayson, there are three women for every man. Even with multiple wives allowed, not every man takes three wives-some men don't marry at all. Twenty percent of the women never find a husband. Competition is pretty fierce to find a man. You don't have the imbalance we do on Grayson, but that competition to find a mate is still here-even if you hide it pretty well."

"Find a mate?" said Helen still obviously confused. "What does that have to do with Lady What's-her-name and you?"

"Well, probably nothing directly," said Anny. "On Grayson, the single women are very aggressive and their mothers raise them that way. To get a man you have to get yourself noticed. We are taught to do things to make ourselves the center of attention-and take attention away from other girls. Lady Sandra might not be from Grayson, and she might not be hunting for a mate, but she sure wants to be the center of attention! I think she wants to be the 'Queen Bee' as we'd say on Grayson."

Helen stood and stared for a few moments. "You say you've had run ins with her before?"

"Oh, nothing serious. Last form she tried to recruit me into her little clique and when I wasn't interested she turned nasty. She's a Cadet-Sergeant in 'H' company and she's put me through some of that plebe-type hazing a few times. That and some mean remarks like just now. It's not important, Helen, _that_ sort of thing my upbringing taught me to deal with!"

"Well, I still don't like it," said Helen angrily. "I don't want some stuck-up jerk from another battalion harassing any of _my_ people. I'm on pretty good terms with Cadet-Major Miller of Third Battalion. Let me know if this happens again. I'll have a word with Miller and he'll tear Lady Sandra a new exhaust port!"

"Spoken like a true leader!" laughed Anny.

Helen elbowed her in the ribs and they headed for the dorm.

**Chapter Ten**

"**B**attle armor is the most powerful set of personal combat equipment in our arsenal," said Marine Sergeant Donna Lakner. "It is proof against a variety of small arms, it can give variable protection against heavier fire, and anyone wearing it is gonna be one tough sonovabitch!"

Anny Payne was standing behind a thick sheet of armorplast with a squad of cadets that included Alby Hinsworth. The marine sergeant was their combat instructor and she was pointing out the features of the suit of battle armor that was on the other side of the viewport. Several other squads were there as well.

"Nice set of duds if you don't mind looking like a gorilla," whispered Alby.

"Alby! Pay attention!" whispered Anny back at him. "What's a gorilla?"

"A suit of battle armor, without weapons, ammo or a person inside masses about two hundred kilos," continued Lakner. "In order for a person to move a load like that, the suits have powered servos to operate like muscles. The servos give the wearer tremendous strength."

On cue, the marine in the armor picked up a heavy metal bar and effortlessly bent it in half. There was a large bench which had a number of weapons arrayed on it; the marine went over and picked it up with one hand. Anny watched the display with great interest. The cadets were not going to be given instruction in the use of battle armor, but they were being made familiar with every piece of equipment they might encounter in active service.

"Modern weaponry is extremely destructive. If you will come down this way, you can get a look at some of the effects from close-up."

The sergeant led them to the other end of the armorplast-enclosed firing range. It was about fifty meters long, and at the far end were a number of targets. Two man-sized dummies wearing fatigues stood there along with two wearing body armor. At the end of the row was an old suit of battered and much-patched battle armor.

"These mannequins have the same density and strength as a human body so you can observe what the weapons would do to a living target," said Lakner. "First we'll see the Mark II. Flechette Gun."

The battle armored marine at the far end of the range picked up a stubby weapon with a muzzle like an ancient blunderbuss. He aimed it at the first unarmored mannequin. There was faint 'pop' and suddenly the mannequin jerked as several dozen holes appeared in the fatigue clothing. A number of other holes appeared in the soft material at the back of the range.

"The flechette gun fires thirty-six darts with each shot. There is an adjustable choke on the barrel that controls the amount of spread. The velocity of the darts is relatively low, and the effective range is correspondingly short. It is an ideal shipboard weapon. The darts do not have the penetration to seriously damage equipment but they are quite capable of taking down multiple unarmored targets with a single shot."

"However," continued Lakner, "flechettes can rarely penetrate body armor and are useless against battle armor." The marine fired again against a mannequin in the body armor. Holes appeared in the outer fabric covering, but the cadets could not tell if the darts had penetrated any further. The marine shifted his aim and fired against the battle armor. The loud 'crack' of metal against metal could be heard dimly through the armorplast and a number of barely seen objects went bouncing off the suit. Some of them hit the view port in front of the cadets with a louder noise. The battle armor showed a few new scuffmarks, but was otherwise unharmed.

"The most commonly used small arm is the pulse rifle or pulse pistol. These use grav-coils to accelerate 4-millimeter darts to extremely high velocity. Two types of projectiles are available: explosive and non-explosive darts. Each has its advantages and disadvantages. The non-explosive darts will generally incapacitate a person and can penetrate body armor in most cases. They are favored for shipboard use because they reduce collateral damage, and I might add that a person hit by them might actually survive long enough to reach a medic."

The battle armored marine picked up a different weapon and fired at the first target. The cadets heard nothing at all, but the target rocked backwards on its stand as darts tore completely through it and into the backstop.

"I don't think that poor fellow's going to reach a medic," whispered Alby.

"The pulsers are nearly silent," said Sergeant Lakner. "They have no muzzle flash and are thus very hard to located except with sensors that can pick up their power packs. One disadvantage of the non-explosive darts on shipboard is that they tend to ricochet."

The marine fired another burst at the suit of battle armor. Darts whined and pinged off the armor loudly, some of them making noticeable sparks where they struck. The deflected projectiles flew off in all directions, some hitting the armorplast. A few even hit the other mannequins.

"Like the flechettes, the pulsers are usually ineffective against targets in battle armor. Now watch the explosive darts."

The marines adjusted his weapon and then fired at the second unarmored mannequin. It suddenly blew apart in a spray of plastic and shredded clothing. There was a sound like a string of firecrackers going off and fist-sized holes were ripped in the backstop by the darts that missed their target.

"Yuck!" said Alby loudly. From the waist up the mannequin was gone.

"As nasty as the explosive darts seem," said Lakner, "They won't generally get through body armor and are useless against battle armor."

The marine shifted his fire and a mannequin in body armor jerked violently as small explosions erupted on the armor it was wearing. Sizable holes were torn in the outer covering, but the mannequin did not explode like the previous one. The marine shifted again and a dozen bright flashes speckled the battle armor. A lot of new scuffmarks appeared on the suit, but nothing penetrated.

One of the cadets raised her hand. "Since the explosive darts won't take out armored targets, and do such horrible things to unarmored ones, you'd think they'd be banned just on humanitarian grounds," she said.

"Well, that's not really my department," said Lakner, "but I think there have been some attempts to do that. Unfortunately, it is kind of pointless when you consider the other weapons you see on the battlefield. Bob, show 'em the tri-barrel." Lakner's last comment was into her com and the marine in battle armor went to the table and picked up a much larger weapon.

"The Mark IV Tri-barrel is a heavier version of the pulse rifle. It works on the same principle but with larger darts, higher muzzle velocity and a higher rate of fire. Even without explosive darts, its effects are pretty devastating."

The marine swung the heavy weapon in a small arc and an invisible buzz saw cut through the remaining mannequins. All three of them were torn in half with bits of plastic, clothing and body armor flying in all directions. Ricocheting darts sparked off the battle armor or cracked against the armorplast viewport. Some of the cadets cringed back.

"Good God!" muttered one of the cadets as they looked at the remains of the mannequins lying about the floor of the firing range. Anny felt slightly sick.

The marine then directed his deadly spray against the battle armor and hundreds of sparks appeared on its surface and the noise became uncomfortably loud even through the thick armorplast. When the fire stopped, the battle armor had had most of its paint stripped off, but it did not appear to be damaged otherwise.

"Sustained Tri-barrel fire will sometimes take out a man in battle armor," said Lakner. "With that many darts flying around, some will probably hit the weaker joints in the suit. At the very least it will wreck most of the exterior sensors and other equipment. Even so, battle armor is incredibly tough."

Alby stepped forward. "So what do you suggest we do if we encounter an enemy in one of these monkey suits, Sergeant?"

"Hehehe," chuckled Lakner. It seemed a strange sound to be coming out of this tough looking soldier. "Your best bet would to be run like hell. If that option is not available, well, battle armor is not invulnerable. Heavier vehicle mounted weapons can take it out with no problem-assuming the guy in the armor is willing to stick around and get hit. Some of the man-portable grenade and missile launchers can do a job on it too. Of the weapons you are likely to have at your disposal, the plasma carbine is probably best. Bob, show 'em the plasma-carb."

The marine picked up a short, stocky weapon and pointed it at the battered set of battle armor. Without warning, a shaft of dazzlingly bright light leapt between the muzzle of the weapon and the chest of the target. A violent explosion blasted out from where the beam struck. Even behind the thick armorplast the shot sounded like a thunderbolt. Anny blinked her eyes and could still see a purple after-image. She looked at the suit of battle armor and was amazed to see a hole about ten centimeters in diameter in the breastplate. The edges glowed a dull red, which quickly faded.

"Wow!" Anny gasped and her sentiments were echoed by most of the cadets.

"Plasma weaponry is your best bet against battle armor," said Lakner. "A heavy plasma gun can punch a hole through a suit at a couple of kilometers, but that weapon is too heavy for anything but a vehicle-or another suit of battle armor to carry. For you guys, the plasma carbine is about it. Unfortunately it is a power hog and the energy cell only is good for about a dozen shots. There is a low power setting for use on unarmored targets that will give you about twice as many shots. Also, the range is severely limited. The beam spreads very quickly. What you saw here was at fifty meters. At a hundred meters that shot probably would not have penetrated. At two hundred meters it would have hardly scorched the paint."

"That concludes the demonstration," continued Lakner. "Now we can get you folks into some protective gear and let you try out some of this stuff on the target range."

[Scene Break]

Anny carefully lined up the target in her sights and squeezed the trigger. A plasma bolt shot from the muzzle of the carbine and her target exploded into fragments. The protective goggles she was wearing kept her from being dazzled and her ear protection muffled the report to a comfortable level.

_Wow! That's neat! _thought Anny to herself.

"Okay, Miss, that's it. Good job," said the instructor. Anny's helmet was set up with a com system that let her hear the marine's words despite the din around her.

Anny got to her feet, still feeling awkward in the body armor she was wearing. She handed the carbine to the instructor and stepped back behind the firing line. The Academy's Combat Range was in a small valley on the north side of Saganami Island. It was situated so that any stray shots would either hit the cliff face to the south or land in the ocean. Over the last hour Anny was given the chance to fire all the weapons that had been demonstrated earlier. The flechette gun and the pulsers had been okay, and the tri-barrel was downright scary, but Anny found she really liked the plasma carbine. It was odd: she had no great liking for firearms, but there was something about the plasma carbine. The feel of tremendous power under control reminded her of the _Javelin _trainers. It just felt right somehow.

Anny looked on as the rest of her squad finished up. There were several other squads also on the range and the steady barrage against the targets made her glad of her ear protection. As she watched, a new batch of cadets arrived, ready to take her squad's place as soon as they were done. This was the second time Anny had been here. The first time she had only used the pulse rifle. Combat training at the Academy had been reduced to just one session each form. Cadets were no longer given ratings on each weapon as they had been in the past. They were simply noted as being 'proficient' or non-proficient'. Anny was a little sorry about that, she had looked forward to earning a few marksmanship medals. _Probably the only kind I'll ever get. _It was not even a course that you had to pass-no one was going to flunk out because they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn.

Which was fortunate for Alby. Anny watched as he blew a chunk out of the ground twenty meters short of the target with a plasma bolt. Sergeant Lakner was standing behind him.

"Mr. Hinsworth, you'll have better luck if you keep your eyes open when you fire," she said.

"Thanks for the tip, Sarge," said Alby who then sent another bolt completely over the target, over the ridge behind it and headed for parts unknown.

"Hope there aren't any training flights over that way today," said Alby.

"They've been warned that you are on the range, Mr. Hinsworth," said Lakner patiently. "All training flights are grounded until you are done-which you are."

"Right, Sarge!" said Alby. He got up and handed her the weapon and then waddled over to Anny. Alby had not grown much since he came to the Academy and the body armor he was wearing was far too large for him.

"Are we done yet?" said Alby after turning off his com. The microphones in Anny's headset picked up his words while still filtering out the background noise. "I say leave this sort of fun and games to the jarheads who enjoy it."

Before Anny could tell him to be quiet, Sergeant Lakner addressed the squad.

"All right, people, we're not done yet. We still have the Skirmish Course and then the unarmed combat training."

Alby groaned. "Well, it could be worse, I guess. Thank God Granny Givens wasn't a marine!"

[Scene Break]

"C'mon, Anny! Hit me, willya?" shouted Alby. Anny swung at him and he ducked aside.

Anny stepped back and shook the sweat out of her eyes. While she was doing so, Alby darted in and punched her in the ribs-hard.

"Ow!" cried Anny, "That wasn't fair!"

"Nope, sure wasn't," said Alby with a grin.

Anny stepped back further and glared at Alby. She was wearing a padded training suit and helmet and their fists were padded, too, but she was sure she would have bruises tomorrow. She did not like this part of the training at all. The Skirmish Course had been fine. It consisted of a trip through a mock-up of a ship's interior filled with holographic targets. Anny had managed to hit most of the targets (although two of them had turned out to be friendlies) and only got 'killed' herself three times. It was about an average performance for a newbie according to Lakner. Sergeant Lakner had no words to describe Alby's performance.

Now they were doing unarmed combat and Anny was chagrined that Alby was much better at it than she was.

Anny closed in on Alby. He danced around, they grappled briefly and then Anny found herself sitting on the mats with Alby standing over her. She tried to grab his leg but he jumped aside. She looked up and Sergeant Lakner was there.

"Ms. Payne, in unarmed combat you cannot hesitate. If you strike a blow, you have to strike it! Not think about it, not toy with the idea of striking a blow, you have to do it. Do it fast, do it hard and don't worry about it."

"Yes, Sergeant," said Anny getting to her feet.

"Yeah, Anny," said Alby, "you hit like a girl!" Alby glanced at Lakner sheepishly. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, mind you," he added.

Lakner made a few more suggestions and then moved on. The cadets were not being trained in any particular form of the martial arts. They were basically being taught how to dish out punishment-and take it-without the usual cringe reflex that most people have. Anny was having a tough time of it. Some people, like Helen, enjoyed this sort of thing and could take advanced training if they wished. Anny hated it and would be glad when it was behind her for good.

Alby moved in on her again and landed a solid blow to the side of her head.

"Alby! I'm starting to get mad!" said Anny.

"Good! Maybe that's what it takes to make you fight!"

They closed on each other and grappled. Anny tried to take Alby down, but in spite of the fact that she was bigger and heavier, she could not do it.

"Maybe you should pretend I'm that bitch, Sandra Bennett," said Alby.

A moment later Alby was flying through the air to land on the mats with a satisfying 'thud'.

"Much better, Ms. Payne!" called Sergeant Lakner who had been watching from a distance.

"Oof!" said Alby from his prone position on the mats. "I didn't mean to get you _that_ angry!"

"Well, you better just watch out, Mr. Hinsworth!" said Anny with a big grin.

"Okay, I will," said Alby rolling to his feet. "Let's try that one again!"

A bit later, Anny was in the locker room mopping sweat off her forehead. As much as she hated the unarmed combat training, she hated this even more. In spite of ten years on Manticore, she could not get used to the idea of unisex bathrooms, locker and shower facilities. She had known they existed but she had managed to avoid having to use them. The embassy compound was built along traditional Grayson lines and when outside of there, a little searching could usually find single-user facilities that she could lock herself into. The schools she had attended were exclusive enough that facilities were set aside for her private use.

But that was not the case at the Academy.

Patric, Helen and Alby had been very careful around her after the one time with Patric. They had never actually said anything to her after that, but she was grateful for their consideration. It had been a little more difficult when they were doubled up in the dorm, but she had managed then, too. Unfortunately, there was no avoiding times like this. She had another class shortly and there was no time to go back to the dorm and shower. She could not go to class all sweaty and smelly so she had no choice but to use the shower here.

Anny sat on a bench in the corner of the locker room with her back to the swarm of naked or nearly naked cadets that were bustling about. She was in her underwear with a towel draped over her shoulders. She was steeling herself for what she had to do, and she was planning her moves as carefully as Helen Zilwicki in a tactical simulator.

When she decided she could not wait any longer, she stood up, pulled off the last of her clothing and quickly walked to the showers. The towel was draped around her as well as she could manage, but it was not nearly big enough. She kept her eyes on the floor and tried not to attract anyone's attention. _I'm being so stupid! No one's interested in what I look like! I'm just one of a hundred people here! _ She told herself the same thing every time, but it never made any difference.

Anny went into the shower. There were still a few people in there and she knew that more would be arriving as each squad finished up with its exercises. She went over to a corner shower and started washing as rapidly as she could. She kept the towel on and it was quickly soaked. It was not actually doing much to protect her modesty at this point, but it was more for Anny's peace of mind than anything else.

Then, something seized the towel and pulled it away.

"Excuse me, cadet, do you mind if I borrow your towel?" said a familiar-and hated-voice.

Anny froze. The spray from the shower continued to wash over her, but she did not move a muscle. _Sandra Bennett! Of all the luck!_

"Cadet, I asked you a question! Turn around when I'm speaking to you!"

Anny still did not move. Bennett was a cadet-sergeant and for the first time Anny really regretted never having accepted any rank herself. She had to obey a direct order but she couldn't!

"Cadet! About face! That's an order!"

Anny slowly turned around. Bennett was there, along with four or five of her cronies. They were all as naked as Anny, but she felt like she was standing in front of a dress parade with the whole regiment in their mess-dress uniforms staring at her.

"That's better, cadet! But you are at attention! Hands at your sides!" said Bennett with a nasty grin. The others, three boys and two girls, were also smiling evil smiles. A half dozen more cadets were in the shower; they had all stopped what they were doing and were staring at her too. Anny slowly lowered her hands.

"Such bad posture! Stand up straight!"

Anny pulled herself erect and fixed a hate-filled stare on Bennett.

"Shoulders back! Stomach in! Chest out!" commanded Lady Sandra.

"It is out," snickered one of the boys.

"So it is," agreed Bennett.

Anny could see a number of other cadets clustering in the door to the shower room. Alby was there in his underwear with a stricken look on his face. Anny was suddenly as angry as she had ever been in her life.

"Wow, I've never seen anyone blush _that_ far down before!" said one of the girls.

Through clenched teeth Anny said: "Yes, you can borrow my towel, Cadet-Sergeant. May I finish my shower now?"

Bennett put her hand up to her face and tapped a finger on her cheek. "I'm not sure I'm satisfied with your response time, Cadet. Perhaps some close order drill or a few push ups, or maybe..."

"Ahem!"

Bennett and the others turned and Anny's gaze followed theirs. Marine Sergeant Donna Lakner was standing in the door to the shower. She was as naked as the rest of them, but she wore an aura of authority like a suit of battle armor.

"Don't you all have something to do, cadets?" said Lakner in an icy voice.

Bennett and her cronies blanched and quickly moved away. Lakner walked over to Anny.

"You okay, kid?" she asked quietly.

Anny's eyes were still on Sandra Bennett. "Yes, I'm fine, Sergeant," she said. Then she looked at Lakner. "Thank you, Sergeant."

"Don't mention it. I hate bullies and these blue-blooded types can be some of the worst. 'Course their blood ain't really blue when you bust their noses-maybe you should see for yourself sometime."

"Thank you, Sergeant, maybe I will," said Anny.

**Chapter Eleven**

**F**light Leader Andreanne Payne walked across the taxiway toward her _Javelin_ Advanced Trainer. The seven other ships of Alpha Flight were lined up beyond hers. Further down the flight line another eight _Javelins_ were standing ready for Helen Zilwicki's Beta Flight. Anny came up to her aircraft and walked around it, looking it over carefully. She trusted her ground crew, but she liked to make sure of things herself.

"Well, good morning, Ms. Payne!" said a voice. "Beautiful day for flying, isn't it?"

Anny looked behind her and saw Chief Jon Seaton. She smiled. She had met the elderly Chief Petty Officer on several prior occasions. She knew that Patric and he were close friends and she liked him, too.

"Good morning, Chief," she said in reply. "Yes, it is, but then almost any day is a good day to fly."

"Can't argue with that," said Seaton with a chuckle. "When you've got the itch to fly-like you do, it seems-weather does not matter much. Well, just passing by, good luck to you!"

"Thanks, Chief," said Anny and she watched the gray-haired CPO walk down the flight line.

Satisfied with her visual inspection, Anny climbed into the cockpit and ran down her checklist. Everything was fine-it almost always was. She glanced down the line of aircraft. She could see some of her pilots still making their exterior inspections, so she knew she had a few minutes to review her mission.

Two months had passed since Commander Atkinson had named her a flight leader. With Helen's help she had found the confidence to do that job and do it well. She had three other cadets under her command and she had trained with them and worked with them to make them into a smoothly functioning team. Fortunately, her three flightmates had all been very cooperative and had not made any trouble for her. At first they had worked on group fighter tactics. They had fought dozens of mock dogfights with Helen's Beta Flight and other flights as well. Anny's own flying skills had improved, and with more help from Helen, she had learned to use her sensors effectively. Using that deadly combination, Anny had racked up more 'kills' in air to air combat than anyone else currently at the Academy. Interestingly, however, Helen's Beta Flight had the best combined score of any of the flights. Helen's tactical skills were much more critical when dealing with larger groups.

From mock combats, they had progressed to precision formation flying. Anny and her three flightmates had learned to maneuver in a closely spaced group. At first they had done it with their Automatic Collision Avoidance Systems activated, and later with them disabled. After a few weeks, Anny's flight was able to maneuver as if it were one aircraft.

"Alpha Leader, this is Alpha Two, ready for take-off," said a voice in her headset.

"Acknowledged," replied Anny, "Standby."

The other pilots of her flight began to report in, one by one.

"Alpha Leader, this is Alpha Five, ready for take-off." The last pilot reported in and Anny frowned. The voice had nearly been a sneer and she had no doubt why. Its owner was Archibald Lansdorff and he was one of Sandra Bennett's pals. Until a week ago, Lansdorff had led his own flight and Anny had to admit he was a pretty good pilot. But now their training had proceeded to flying in larger formations. Lansdorff's flight had been combined with Anny's and she had been made the combined flight leader. Lansdorff had made no secret of the scorn he felt for her.

"Acknowledged, Alpha Five, standby," she said tonelessly.

"Saganami Control, this is Alpha Flight, requesting permission for take-off," said Anny into her com.

"Alpha Flight, stand-bye for a change in flight plan," replied the control tower. Anny was suddenly alert: this had not happened before. She waited a few moments and then they called her again.

"Alpha Flight, uploading new flight plan now. Alpha Leader, you are advised that changing weather conditions have caused your exercise area to be relocated."

"Saganami Control, please advise on new weather conditions," requested Anny. The information she had gotten earlier had not indicated anything unusual.

"Ms. Payne, this is Commander Atkinson. It's nothing to worry about. There's a pretty nasty storm off to the southwest. It wasn't expected in our area until tomorrow morning, but it has picked up speed and should be here by late today. Just to be on the safe side we have relocated your exercise to the north. Your exercise plan is unchanged. Proceed with your mission."

"Roger, Commander," said Anny. She was relieved. It was late summer in this part of Manticore and some pretty good storms could develop in the Southern Ocean, sometimes even hurricanes. It was rare for a big storm to come into Silver Gulf, but they did get some heavy squalls at this time of year. The _Javelins_ were nearly impervious to weather effects and they did most of their flying above the weather anyway, but why mess around with a storm if you did not have to? There were thousands of square kilometers of empty ocean to practice over to the north of Saganami Island.

"Alpha Leader, upload is complete, you are clear to taxi."

"Roger, Saganami Control. Alpha Leader to Alpha Flight, proceed to take-off positions," said Anny.

A few minutes later they were in the air and heading north.

It only took them about ten minutes to reach their exercise area, but that was plenty of time for Anny to get nervous. Their mission called for them to form an atmospheric version of the Wall of Battle that was used in space combat. The _Javelins_ would be put in a rigid formation and then be expected to maneuver in unison. In an adjacent exercise area Helen would be doing the same thing with her flight. When Commander Atkinson was satisfied with their exercises, she would allow the two flights to 'engage' each other.

Anny had been puzzled for a number of months over the purpose of all the flight exercises. She certainly was not complaining about it since she loved to fly so much, but she had to admit that the skills she was learning were of limited use once she was sent up to the Fleet. The Navy did have small craft and sometimes they were used in atmospheres and sometimes even in the support of ground troops, but air to air combat such as she had been practicing was extremely rare. Certainly she was learning valuable lessons in tactics-and leadership-but it still seemed a strange use of their time.

The wall of battle exercises were even more puzzling. Aircraft just did not handle like spacecraft. The controls, the maneuvers and the skills were not the same at all. If they were trying to teach them to pilot capital ships, they could do it much more realistically in the simulators. Anny had asked Commander Atkinson about it. Atkinson's answer had been cryptic and rather evasive. That was not like the Commander and Anny realized that probably meant that she was expected to figure out the reason herself. So she did. A little research had given her the answer.

There was one thing that the simulators could not simulate. One element that no matter how realistic they were, would still be missing.

The danger.

The Navy unofficially called it "Simulator Safety Syndrome". They had found out the hard way that it was possible to make the simulators so realistic that they were indistinguishable from reality. And when the simulations _became_ reality, the officers had a hard time adjusting to the fact that it _was_ real and that their mistakes could cost lives instead of points on their grade scores. For a period before the war, the Academy had cut back on flight training and relied almost exclusively on simulators. There was an alarming increase in serious accidents once these officers got to the Fleet. It took a while to figure out the reason, but once they did, flight training was reinstituted.

The _Javelins_ were still extremely safe, but every pilot knew that once you were up there, screaming along at twelve hundred KPH with your ACAS switched off, you could easily kill yourself with a dumb mistake.

A thing like that tended to focus the mind wonderfully.

As a result, Anny was worried. This was the first time she had worked with eight aircraft. This was the first time she had worked with four of the pilots. And one of those pilots hated her.

"Alpha Flight, this is Alpha Leader, time to form the wall. Alpha Two and Alpha Three form on me, fifty meter separation, the rest of you stand by," said Anny. The two pilots she named acknowledged and closed in to overtake her.

"C'mon, Alpha Leader," said a voice Anny recognized as Archie Lansdorff, "we all know our spots, why waste time?"

"We can all wait our turn, Alpha Five," replied Anny, trying not to let her irritation into her voice. _Not up here ten minutes and he's already challenging my authority!_

Alpha Two moved directly in front of Anny's plane and Alpha Three did the same thing with Alpha Two.

"Alpha Four and Five take your positions," said Anny.

Alpha Four acknowledged and moved into a position fifty meters above Anny's plane and about twenty-five meters in front. Alpha Five did not bother to acknowledge the order, but he took his proper position fifty meters ahead of Alpha Four.

"Very good," said Anny, "Alpha Six, Seven and Eight, form the top of the wall."

The remaining three planes formed another line fifty meters above the second line. The wall was now formed: A row of three _Javelins, _above a row of two, above another row of three. It was the same formation a single battle squadron would have adopted in deep space, although Alpha Flight would have fit comfortably in the boat bay of a single superdreadnought. Anny was the last plane in the bottom row where she could see the whole formation.

"All right, Alpha Flight, come port thirty degrees," ordered Anny.

The wall turned smoothly to the left. Anny watched the formation carefully both visually and on her sensors.

"Very good, now thirty degrees back to starboard."

For the next fifteen minutes Anny ran them through a series of course and altitude changes. They did it very well, although with the ACAS still active the challenge-and the danger-was much reduced. After that, they practiced rolling their craft on their sides and performing the same maneuvers again. Finally, it was time for the main event. Anny swallowed nervously and spoke into her com.

"Alpha Flight, this is Alpha Leader. Good work, people. I am now going to deactivate the ACAS and we'll do it for real. Remember, fifty-meter separations. All right, here we go."

Anny flipped a switch on her control panel and the Automatic Collision Avoidance System was deactivated in all of the _Javelins_. There was a little bit of nervous jostling in the formation now that there was no computer making sure they did not run into each other. _But that's the whole idea isn't it? To make us nervous._

"Steady, people," said Anny. "Okay, same as before, come port thirty degrees."

It was not quite as pretty as the first time, but they did it with no problem. Anny started them through the identical series of maneuvers they had started with.

"Hey Leader," said Alpha Five after a few minutes, "we can do this in our sleep, let's get on to the hard stuff!"

Anny gritted her teeth. With one of her regular flightmates she would have taken the comment as enthusiastic banter-but one of her regular flightmates would have never said such a thing to begin with. Coming from Lansdorff it was like a slap in the face. She controlled her voice carefully when she responded.

"We will continue with the scheduled maneuvers. Cut the chatter Alpha Five."

"Oh yes, ma'am, wouldn't want to distract you!"

Anny ignored him and ordered another course change. For a few more minutes they went on with the routine. Then Anny noticed that Alpha Five was closing in on Alpha Eight from below. His separation was down to less than thirty meters.

"Alpha Five, you are too close to Alpha Eight," she said into the com. "Separation distance is fifty meters."

Lansdorff said nothing, but he backed off to the correct distance. A few minutes later he was closing in again. Anny was getting more irritated.

"Mr. Lansdorff, you are too close to Alpha Eight," she said and her annoyance was plain in her voice.

"C'mon, Leader, we've got to learn this sooner or later. Those of us who aren't afraid to do it should be allowed to!"

It was true that as they progressed in their training the distance would be cut down step by step until finally it was only twenty meters. But that was not supposed to happen until they were all ready! Anny was furious.

"Mr. Lansdorff! The separation distance is fifty meters!"

"Okay, okay!" said Lansdorff and he backed off again.

A few more minutes passed and they were nearing the end of the first routine. Then they could try doing this rolled on their sides. Anny was correcting the position of Alpha Seven when she saw that Alpha Five was less than twenty meters from Alpha Eight.

_All right, that does it! I'm going to let him have it!_ thought Anny.

"Mr. Lansdorff!" she began.

But that was when it happened.

Alpha Eight hit a patch of turbulence and bounced downward a few meters just as Alpha Five moved up a bit more. Archie Lansdorff suddenly realized he was far too close and jerked his craft sharply downwards. Unfortunately, Alpha Three had obediently closed up to fifty meters from Alpha Five. When Lansdorff saw that he was coming down on top of Alpha Three he over-corrected and shot upwards again. The nose of his plane clipped Alpha Eight and sheared off part of its horizontal stabilizer-just as Anny Payne slapped her hand down on the switch that reactivated the Automatic Collision Avoidance System.

Alarms sounded in all eight cockpits and computers started trying to sort out the mess that they were suddenly presented with. Unfortunately, it could not be done. Alpha Five and Eight were already spinning out of control. Alpha Seven joined them when the piece knocked from Alpha Eight tore off part of Alpha Seven's tail. Alpha Six and Alpha Four also spun away wildly to avoid the disaster looming in front of them. The computers coldly and dispassionately analyzed the situation, briefly conferred with each other and then acted.

Alpha Four, Five, Six, Seven and Eight rolled to angles the computers had chosen and activated their escape pods. The cockpit sections rocketed away on thrusters and then activated their countergravity units. The aircraft themselves immediately cut their turbines, opened their flaps and also turned on their CG generators. The other three planes of Alpha Flight veered off on courses that would take them clear of all the flying pieces. A chorus of screams, shouts and curses filled the com.

Anny pulled her _Javelin_ into a tight turn and circled around the remains of her flight. She looked on in numb horror as the pieces of five aircraft slowly floated seaward. Without power and under countergravity, the planes and the escape pods quickly decelerated, even in the thin air they had been flying in. Anny called up the bio-readouts on all of her pilots and took a deep breath when she saw that except for very high heart rates, all her pilots were unharmed. Someone was calling her on the com but she had to force herself to pay attention to it.

"Alpha Leader! Alpha Leader! this is Saganami Control! What the hell is going on!"

Anny began to shake. This had been her fault. Alpha Flight was virtually wiped out-and it was her fault!

"Saganami Control, this is Alpha Leader," she said in a daze, "I am declaring a Mayday. I repeat: Mayday, Mayday, Mayday..."

**Chapter Twelve**

**C**adet Andrianne Payne stood rigidly in front of Commandant Thayer's desk and tried to keep from trembling. _This can't be happening to me! It's all a nightmare and I'll wake up soon!_ But she knew it was not a nightmare. Admiral Thayer was in her powerchair behind her desk. Commander Margaret Atkinson was standing to one side. Both of them were staring at Anny intently and their expressions were hard.

It was six hours since Alpha flight had met with disaster. All of the pilots, escape pods, and pieces of the aircraft that could be found had been collected and returned safely to Saganami Island. Anny had spent that time being debriefed and then waiting nervously to appear before Thayer. She knew she was in serious trouble.

"Cadet Andreanne Payne," said Thayer at last. "I have reviewed the data from your training flight and conferred with Commander Atkinson. I have just one question for you: Who was to blame for the accident that occurred this morning?"

Anny began to shake. Archibald Lansdorff was the one who had collided with Alpha Eight. Lansdorff was the one who had ignored Anny's repeated warnings about his distance. Lansdorff was the one who had continually flaunted her authority.

But it was not Archie Lansdorff who was to blame. Anny knew it, and she was sure that Thayer knew it. Anny swallowed twice before she could get her voice to work.

"I...I am, Admiral, it was my fault."

Thayer seemed to relax and lean back slightly in her chair. Her expression softened the tiniest bit.

"I am very, very glad to hear you say that, Cadet," Thayer sighed. Then she suddenly slammed her hand down on her desk. "Because if you had given me any other answer I would have had you off this island so fast it would make your head spin! Political consequences be damned!" Anny flinched at the sudden harshness in Thayer's voice.

"What happened this morning was extremely serious, Cadet," said Thayer in a more even tone. "But it could have been worse. We will have to convene a Safety Evaluation Board to go over what happened and you will be questioned again. Fortunately, there were no serious injuries and I believe that all of the aircraft are repairable. That is correct, isn't it, Commander?"

"Yes, Admiral, we may have to get a bit creative about our spare parts expenditure report, but we should be able to get all five ships operational again using our own resources," answered Atkinson.

"That is good," said Thayer. "If there had been serious injuries-or loss of life-or if any of the aircraft had been destroyed, we would have no choice but to convene an official inquest. Such an inquest would have landed you in some very hot water, Cadet."

Anny said nothing-there was nothing for her to say.

"Admiral," said Commander Atkinson hesitantly, "I have to tell you that Cadet Payne has done some excellent work in the past. It is possible I was expecting too much from her. I may have pushed her too hard."

Thayer looked at the Commander for a moment. "Yes, I'll keep that in mind, Maggie. Thank you, Commander. That's all for now; I need to talk with Ms. Payne alone."

"Yes, ma'am," said Atkinson. She saluted and left the office. She gave Anny a tiny nod as she went by, and then shut the door after her.

Anny continued to stand at attention. Her knees felt week. She wished she could sit down. Thayer stared at her for so long without saying anything that Anny was afraid she was going to fall to the floor.

"It's not fair, is it?" said Thayer at last.

"M-Ma'am?"

"I said it's not fair. Lansdorff was a fool. If anyone else had been flying in his position you would have completed your exercise without a problem and none of this would have happened." Anny said nothing; Thayer's change of tone and direction completely confused her.

"But unfortunately, he was there and he was a fool. It was your job to see that fools did not endanger your command-and you failed."

"Yes, ma'am," said Anny miserably.

"It is easy to second-guess, Ms. Payne, but anyone listening to the recording of Alpha Flight's communications could see that accident coming long before it happened. You had an insubordinate pilot. He did not show you proper respect and he was ignoring his flight instructions. You should have swatted him like a bug, Flight Leader! When you are in command, you have to _command! _After that first round of backtalk you should have warned him-but you did not. After his first distance violation you should have given him a direct order not to do it again-but you did not. After the second violation you should have aborted the mission, reactivated ACAS and returned to base to place Mr. Lansdorff on report -but you did not. I know, you didn't want a confrontation, you didn't want to cut short the mission-you didn't want to do anything _embarrassing. _So you didn't do _anything_-and five of your classmates almost died."

"I know, Admiral, I'm sorry," said Anny.

"I'm sorry too, but sorry isn't good enough in our line of work," said Thayer.

"Ms. Payne, I've looked over your record since coming to Saganami Island," continued Thayer. "For the most part it is very impressive. But there has been a consistent and alarming deficiency when it comes to leadership. When given the opportunity, you have _refused_ to lead. You have deliberately gone out of your way to _avoid_ having to lead. Finally, when leadership was forced upon you, you _failed_ to lead."

Thayer's voice was neither loud nor angry, but her words cut Anny like knives. And everything she said was true.

"Ms. Payne, why did you come to the Academy?" Thayer's question took Anny by surprise. Her mouth opened and shut, but no sound came out.

"No, I don't want an answer," said Thayer after a moment. "I want you to ask yourself that question. Why did you come here? What were you planning to do with your commission when you got it? You have joined the Navy, Ms. Payne, a navy at war. The job of this Academy-my job-is to train leaders. If a cadet graduates who is not able to be a leader, then the Academy-and I-have failed, no matter how skilled or educated, or how good a pilot that cadet might be otherwise."

"I don't know what plans the Admiralty or Grayson might have for you after you graduate, Ms. Payne. Maybe they'll just stick you in a display case and it won't matter that you can't lead. But I have to assume that you will actually go up to the Fleet, actually have men and women under your command, and that worries me. The accident today was not serious enough to kick you out. The political situation won't allow me to ask you to leave. But you have to ask yourself: Why do you want to stay? I can't answer that question, Cadet-but you have to. That's all. You will be informed when you have to appear before the Safety Board. Dismissed."

A little while later Anny was wandering through the gardens south of Gatchall Hall. She walked past the rows of flowering plants without noticing them. She was in shock. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the events of this day. In a daze, she sat down on a bench that looked out on the ocean. There was a dark line of clouds on the southern horizon. The color matched her mood perfectly.

Everything had been going so well. She was feeling really good about Alpha Flight-at least until they merged it with Lansdorff's. Helen was working on getting her an NCO position and she was starting to feel like she really could be an officer. And then this happened.

_ What am I going to do?_ She had no answer.

She had liked Admiral Thayer. She remembered how nice and friendly she had been during the dinner at her house. How could she have treated Anny like this? The dressing-down Thayer had given her was worse than anything Anny could think of-except maybe watching the remains of Alpha Flight fluttering towards the sea. Anny knew she wasn't being fair: Thayer was only doing her job. But it hurt-Oh, how it hurt!

Anny hid her face in her hands and she cried.

When the tears stopped, Anny sat and stared at the ocean. The clouds were nearer and the wind was coming up. _Does Thayer want me to quit? It sounded like it. She can't kick me out, but she wants me to quit. Even if I go voluntarily, Thayer is bound to come under severe criticism for letting it happen-it could ruin her career. She must know that-so why is she doing this?_ The answer came like a sentence of doom.

_For the good of the Navy! She'd rather ruin her own career than fail in her responsibility! What do I have to compare with that kind of courage? Nothing! _The emptiness inside her was unlike anything she had ever felt before.

Anny got up from the bench and started walking. She did not want to go back to the dorm, but it looked like rain and her feet carried her there anyway. She walked across the causeway and went into one of the lounges. She flopped down on a sofa and stared at some mindless HD program.

"Anny! I've been looking all over for you!" Anny looked up and there was Helen standing by the sofa. Anny said nothing and turned back to the HD. Helen sat down next to her.

"Anny, are you all right?" asked Helen, her voice was full of concern.

"Fine, just fine," mumbled Anny.

Helen pulled out her compad and typed in a few commands and then spoke into the device. "Patric? Alby? I found her, I'm going to take her into the mess hall and get some food into her. Meet us there."

"Come on, Anny, let's get something to eat," said Helen, tugging on Anny's sleeve.

"Not hungry, Helen," said Anny.

"Well, we're going to eat anyway. Come on now, that's an order."

Anny let Helen pull her to her feet and lead her to the mess hall. With the Academy schedule, meals were served continuously and there were a fair number of people there. Anny numbly filled her tray with food and then followed Helen to an empty table. Slowly she began to eat. The food was tasteless, but Helen forced some coffee on her and she became slightly more alert. After a few minutes Patric and Alby arrived and sat down with them. Anny could not look them in the face.

"Anny, are you all right?" said Patric anxiously. "I heard about the accident. I comm'ed Admiral Thayer's office and they said you left over two hours ago! Where have you been? We were worried!"

Anny just shook her head.

"Anny, I talked to some of the other people in Alpha Flight," said Helen. "They told me what really happened. It wasn't your fault, Anny!"

"I was in command, Helen. If it wasn't my fault, whose fault was it?"

"That asshole Archie Lansdorff comes to mind!" said Alby. There was more anger in Alby's voice than Anny had ever heard from him before.

"You didn't cause that accident! Lansdorff is the one to blame, Anny," insisted Helen.

"I was in command, Helen. Don't try to bullshit me: we both know what that means."

The others were silent. Anny did not know if it was because they knew she was right or if they were shocked at her use of profanity.

"What did Admiral Thayer say, Anny?" asked Helen after a while.

"I don't belong here," said Anny simply.

"What?!" exclaimed all three of the others.

"She actually said that?" asked Helen incredulously.

"No, but that's what she meant-and she's right."

"Anny, that's not true!" said Patric.

"That's crazy!" protested Alby. "You're the best pilot in the Academy - even if you do hit like a girl."

"I'm going to resign. I don't belong here." Anny heard herself saying the words, but it was like someone else was talking.

"Anny, no! You can't do that!" said Patric. The pain in his voice cut through the fog wrapping Anny's brain. _I failed him, too!_

"Anny, you've had a hard day. You're not in any shape to make a decision like that!" insisted Helen. "We're going to take you up to bed and you are going to get some sleep and we'll talk about this some more in the morning."

The others were starting to pull at her when a well remembered-and much despised-voice interrupted them.

"Well, it's Anny the Ace! I've been meaning to give you my congratulations!" said Sandra Bennett. Anny and the others looked up and there she was a few meters away. She was with her usual friends-except that Archibald Lansdorff was missing-and she had her usual smile of disdain on her face.

"Oh, but I'm forgetting! All those kills were unconfirmed. Too bad! You would have been the Academy's first ace-for the Peeps!"

Helen was on her feet. "Shut up, Bennett! Get out of here!" she snarled.

"Oh, yes ma'am! Yes, Cadet Major Zilwicki! You are always looking out for your people like a good officer should! But watch out for that one!" said Bennett, pointing to Anny. "She just might get you killed someday-the way she almost did with Poor Archie!"

Patric was on his feet. Helen threw aside her chair with a crash. Alby looked on with wide eyes.

Anny was horrified. _This can't be happening! There can't be a fight! With Bennett's connections Patric would be kicked out of the Academy! Even Helen's career would be ruined before it started! It's my fault again! This is all my fault!_

Without realizing it, Anny was backing away from the table. Her sole thought was to get away. If she were not there, there would be no reason to fight! She collided with someone and there was a protesting voice. She turned and there were a tableful of people all looking at her. She looked around the mess hall and everyone was looking at her.

_They all know!_

Anny dodged around the table and into one of the aisles. She headed for the exit, walking faster and faster. By the time she reached the doors, she was almost running. As she went through the doors, she heard Patric shout her name.

Out in the lobby she _was_ running. Running to get away. In her panic she did not notice how dark it had gotten outside.

Until she opened the door.

A howling blast of wind struck her in the face. Rain pelted her and a crash of thunder hit her like a physical blow.

_The storm!_

The storm that Commander Atkinson had warned her about that morning had arrived. As Anny looked out in shock, a huge wave broke against the causeway and sent spray twenty meters into the air. They did not have storms like this back home in Landing. Anny had never been outside even in the milder storms they did have. Her Grayson-bred fear of the outdoors screamed at her to shut the door and get back inside.

Anny turned back toward the lobby. But there were dozens of people looking at her! And Patric and Helen and Alby-and Sandra Bennett were all waiting for her back there! She could not go back in!

Anny Payne turned again and fled into the storm.

**Chapter Thirteen**

**A**nny had never imagined anything like this. The wind tugged at her, rain came down in sheets, and the thunder and lightning never stopped. She staggered across the causeway. Another huge wave sent water crashing over her, soaking her to the skin in an instant and half blinding her. If it had not been for the railing, she would have been washed into the sea. The seawater stung her eyes and a voice from her childhood shouted at her to get to a decontamination facility before she was fatally poisoned.

Instead, she kept going and reached the shore. Away from the building, the wind was even stronger. It was still two hours before sunset, but it seemed as black as night to Anny. The lights along the streets and walkways were on, but they could scarcely be seen because of the deluge. She walked for a few hundred meters without any purpose or plan. Something hit the ground next to her. Then another and another. She was hit in the back by something that stung. _Hail?_ She had never seen hail before, but she guessed that was what the icy pellets coming down around her were.

She pulled her beret from under her shoulder epaulet. She wanted to put it on to give her head some protection, but the wind snatched it out of her hands and whirled it away. She was as frightened as she could ever remember being. She turned back toward the dormitory-Nature's fury had overcome all of Anny's lesser fears.

But she could not see the dorm anymore. The wind was from the south and to go back it would be directly in her face. She took a few steps and then gave up. A piece of hail hit her forehead and she cried out. She turned back to the north and let the wind blow her along. There were some buildings in that direction. She could find one and take shelter. A storm like this could not last that long!

Step by step she struggled northward. There should have been buildings—something-this way, but she could not see more than a few meters and she found nothing. After what seemed hours she passed through a line of trees that were whipping wildly in the gale. They seemed to offer a little shelter. Anny got on the other side of them and tried to catch her breath. There was so much rain coming down it was hard to breathe...

Something heavy hit her without warning and knocked her sprawling. She struck her knee on a hard surface and then she was face down in the wet grass. There was something on her! She screamed and tried to push it off her, but claws seemed to scratch at her hands and face. She fought frantically for a few moments before she realized that it was a tree branch. A large branch had been torn off one of the trees and knocked her down. With some more scratches she managed to pull herself out from under it.

She stood there gasping and dazed. Suddenly the night was ripped away by a blinding flash of light. Lightning struck one of the trees and the concussion almost knocked Anny down again. Blinded and ears ringing, Anny turned away from the trees and stumbled onwards. She could not find the paved path so she slogged through the grass and mud.

She was climbing a hill. The wind seemed to be lifting her up it. A dim recess in her mind warned her about the cliffs on the north side of the island. She struggled onward. She had no plan or purpose anymore, she just kept moving. Her feet led her where they wanted. At times she was crawling on her hands and knees. After a long time she reached the top of the hill. The wind seemed even stronger now. The hail had stopped, but the rain was driven against her with enough force to sting. The lightning flashed again and again. Thunder rang in her ears.

Anny took a few more steps and then halted. A huge black shape reared up in front of her. She took a step back in fright.

Her feet had brought her here-but her feet had betrayed her.

An angry titan towered over her. A demon crouched on its shoulder, ready to spring and rend Anny to bits. Then lightning ripped back the night again, and Anny knew where she was. She had come here often. It had been a place of peace and comfort to her.

But there was no comfort here now.

Commodore Honor Harrington and her treecat looked down on Anny Payne. The eyes that had once gazed out on Silver Gulf now seemed to be looking down on her. Accusing eyes. Eyes filled with contempt. Anny was a worm in the mud at the feet of a colossus.

Anny stood there, chest heaving as she tried to breathe. Tears poured down her cheeks but they were washed away by the rain in an instant. She looked at the image of the person she most admired in the universe and she knew she had to tell her the truth.

"I've failed you, My Lady."

Anny's words were lost in the wind, but they were not meant for mortal ears. As the meaning of what she said sank in, Anny began to sob.

"I've failed you, I've failed everyone. What a fool I was to think that I could do something you had done! That I could do even a tiny fraction of what you had done!"

Despair filled her. All her dreams were in ashes. The world was empty and bare. She thought of the cliffs only a few hundred meters further on.

"What can I do? I've ruined everything. I've failed everyone. You, my father, my family. I've failed Patric and Helen and Alby. I've failed the Academy and Admiral Thayer. I've failed the Protector and Grayson. Everyone!"

"What am I going to do? Oh Sweet Tester, what am I..."

Anny froze.

The common name for the God of Grayson froze her very soul.

She had lived for ten years on Manticore. But Anny Payne had fifty generations of Graysons in her blood. A thousand years of religious teachings were her heritage. She had sat at her father's knee and learned about her God. A stern god, a god who demanded much from His people...

Stark terror struck Anny to the core of her being as she realized the truth-as she realized what she had done.

_She had failed her Test!_

A moan... a scream... rising to a shriek that matched the wind for a moment was ripped from Anny's lungs.

No sinner of Old Earth, knowing himself damned by his own actions and with visions of hellfire flickering before him, ever knew more misery than Anny Payne did in that moment. She clutched her head in her hands and crumpled to the ground at the foot of the statue. Her soul filled with a blackness darker than the storm that raged around her.

"Anny! Anny!"

Someone was calling her name. It seemed to be coming from a long way off.

"Anny!"

It was louder now.

Strong hands seized her and she was lifted part way off the ground. She was turned around so her face was up. Rain beat on her and a dark shape was crouched over her.

"Anny!"

She blinked, but the rain kept getting in her eyes. Then a flash of lightning revealed the shape.

_Patric!_

"P-Patric?" she whispered.

"Anny! Anny, are you all right?" he shouted.

"Patric!"

There was life in her again and she clutched at Patric with a sudden desperation. She pulled herself against him. She buried her face against his chest and sobbed wildly. Patric's huge arms wrapped around her, cradling her, sheltering her, protecting her. He rocked her gently back and forth like she was a child. For that moment she _was_ a child. Her mind went blank and she knew nothing more than the gentle arms holding her. Her terror faded and for a few minutes her exhaustion overcame her and she slept in his embrace.

"Anny?"

Someone was calling her again.

She opened her eyes and tried to think of where she was. Her face has pressed against a mass of warm, wet fabric. Someone was holding her, rocking her.

"Anny?"

She pulled away slightly and there was Patric bending over her. She looked around. He was kneeling on the ground and he was holding her halfway on his lap. The rain was much less and the wind was a fraction of what it had been. It was brighter and Anny could see her surroundings clearly. The storm was passing.

"Patric?"

"I'm right here, Anny. Are you all right?"

"Why... why did you come after me?"

"Anny! I was worried about you!" Patric stared at her intently. "Anny, I love you!"

_He loves me. Yes, he loves me!_

Right now that was the only thing that mattered.

Anny grabbed hold of Patric's uniform and pulled herself up. Her hand went around his neck and she was pressing her lips against his. For an instant he pulled back in surprise and then he was returning her kiss. His strong arms crushed her to him and they kissed with a desperate passion.

Anny melted into his arms. It was so right. So right.

_He loves you! _an inner voice told her, _and you love him! Give it up! Give up this crazy dream! You're no warrior! Give it up! You can be happy with him! He loves you and he'll take care of you. No more decisions. No more trying to be something you can never be! Give it up!_

At first that voice was all there was and Anny listened to it eagerly. But then another voice, tiny at first, but growing, demanded her attention.

_No! You can't! Don't give in! Fifty generations of your sisters did that! They let men make their decisions for them! They gave up their right to chose! You can't do that too! Don't give in!_

For a few moments the two voices warred within her. Then they slowly faded. Neither of them had won, but Anny was herself again. She reluctantly ended her long kiss with Patric and pulled away slightly. She looked into his face. She loved him. Of that she had no more doubts. But a million other doubts flooded back into her. Nothing else had changed. The accident. The talk with Thayer. The decision she faced. She shuddered in Patric's arms.

"I love you, Patric," she said. His arms squeezed her a bit tighter. "But what am I going to do?"

"You can't leave the Academy, Anny," said Patric. His voice was almost pleading.

"I don't want to, but I don't know if I can stay either."

"Anny, everyone makes mistakes," said Patric helplessly.

"In this business, our mistakes cost peoples' lives, Patric," Anny was staring over his shoulder at nothing.

Patric was silent for a while. There was nothing he could possibly say, was there? After a few minutes he held out his hand and opened it. There was a sodden and mud stained lump of fabric in it.

"I found your hat."

It was so ridiculous that Anny actually laughed, although few people would have identified her sputtering croak for what it was.

"Thank you, Patric," she said, picking up the lump with two finger. Then she looked into his eyes. "Thank you, Patric," she whispered.

He lowered his face to hers and their lips met again. It was a long loving kiss that Anny did not want to end, but she was shaking in his arms. Patric pulled back and looked at her.

"You're soaked. I've got to get you back to the room and into some dry clothes," he said.

"We're both soaked, Patric, but I suppose you are right. We can't stay here, can we?" Anny had made no decisions about anything else. One thing at a time.

"Can you walk?" asked Patric, trying to stand her up.

"I think so, but I like leaning on you." Anny's legs felt like rubber, but she knew if she said so, Patric would probably try to carry her.

"Lean all you want. Okay, here we go."

They walked slowly and unsteadily away from the statue and through the line of trees. Even though the day was nearly over, it was actually getting lighter as the storm receded. There was a faint pink glow in the southwestern sky. The evidence of the storm was everywhere. Leaves and branches torn from trees were scattered all about. As they walked down the hill they could see entire trees uprooted in several spots.

"The groundskeepers are going to be busy for a while after this," said Patric.

They reached the bottom of the hill. Anny saw a tree off to her left that had been split by the lightning. She realized that was where she had been earlier. She had missed the path and gone up the hill from there. She shook her head, it seemed like centuries ago.

They crossed over d'Orville Avenue and headed for the dorm. As they walked, they became aware of a clamor of shouting voices. They got closer and Anny could see mobs of cadets running in all directions. They were yelling and whooping and throwing their caps in the air.

"What's going on?" said Patric. "It looks like the last time we beat U of L in a soccer game!"

"I don't know," said Anny. She was still too dazed to handle any new questions.

They stood and watched and after a moment a pair of cadets came dashing in their direction. They would have gone right on by if Patric had not called out to them.

"Hey! Stop! What's going on?"

The pair skidded to a stop in front of them. They had wild expressions on their faces, which briefly turned to puzzlement at the sight of Anny and Patric, dripping wet, mud-spattered, and hanging on to each other.

"You mean you haven't heard!?" gasped one of them.

"Heard what?" asked Patric.

"Harrington!" the pair said in unison. "Honor Harrington! She's alive!"

The world spun around Anny and her legs gave way. She would have fallen if Patric was not holding her.

"Are you crazy?" said Patric in astonishment. "She's dead!"

"No it's true! She's alive!" they insisted. "They just announced it on the HD! She's captured a whole squadron of Peep ships and she's at Trevor's Star!"

It was impossible. It was simply impossible, but suddenly Anny knew it was true. Somehow, she _knew_ it was true.

"But how...?" said Patric. He sounded as dazed as Anny felt.

"I don't know," said one of the cadets, "but the Prime Minister is going to make an announcement in about a half hour."

Anny and Patric just looked at them blankly. When no more questions were forthcoming, the pair of cadets dashed off.

"Huzzah! The Salamander has done it again!" shouted one of them.

Patric looked at Anny and there was a lopsided smile on his face that must have mirrored her own. He looked like he wanted to say something, but what was there to say? Suddenly, they were kissing again. For a few moments they were oblivious to the bedlam around them. Anny felt a strange energy flowing into her. Her legs were steady again and she could stand without Patric's help.

"Come on," said Patric after their kiss ended. "Let's get back to the room and get cleaned up and watch that announcement!"

They started walking again, but after a few steps Anny stopped.

"What's the matter?" asked Patric, looking back at her.

"You go on ahead, Patric. I have to do something."

Patric's expression changed to one of worry. "What do you mean? I don't want to leave you alone again."

"I'm all right now, Patric," said Anny and she smiled at him. "Really. I'll be okay. It will only take a few minutes and I'll meet you back at the room."

"Are you sure...?"

"Yes, I'm sure." She went up on her toes and kissed him briefly. "I'll be fine, I promise. Trust me, okay?"

"Well, all right. But if you don't come back soon, I'll come looking for you again!"

"I'll be back, I promise," laughed Anny. "Don't worry."

Patric slowly let go of her hand and started to walk away. He kept his eyes on her for a few steps. He silently mouthed: "I love you" and Anny did the same back. Finally he turned and walked toward the mob around the dorm. Anny stood and watched him go. He turned around to look at her at least a half dozen times and each time Anny gave him a small wave.

When Patric disappeared in the crowd, Anny turned and headed back the way she had just come.

Her feet carried her up the hill. Faster and faster, until she was nearly running by the time she reached the top. She came through the trees and stood panting in front of the statue. A last few drops of rain were spattering about her. The clouds off to the south were beginning to break up, but there was a solid wall of blackness to the north where the storm was retreating. A steady breeze blew past her. Anny stared at the statue in awe.

_How? How did she do it?_

Even as she asked the question, Anny suddenly seemed to be given a Second Sight. She knew nothing of Honor Harrington's incredible adventure, but somehow Anny _knew _how she had miraculously arrived at Trevor's Star.

A sense of wonder filled her and she realized that she had received a gift beyond price. She had been shown one of life's fundamental truths. Something so simple, but so profound, that most people lived their whole lives without ever discovering it. She stood in front of the statue, clutching her beret in both hands, gazing up at the face of the statue that was once again looking out on Silver Gulf.

"You never gave up," said Anny and she was amazed to hear her own voice.

"That's the whole secret, isn't it?"

"It's not a matter of being smart, or strong, or even brave."

"It's just a matter of never quitting. No matter how bad things seem. No matter how hopeless the situation is. Just never, ever, give up."

Tears were pouring down her face as she spoke to the chunk of bronze in front of her. A sudden gust of wind seemed to blow completely through her and she shivered. The wind blew right through her soul and the blackness that had been there was carried away, swirling like invisible vapors, to mix and disappear in the blackness of the fleeing storm. She was renewed-washed clean by the tempest.

As Anny watched, the statue took on a pink glow. The setting sun broke through the tattered clouds and the bronze turned to gold. The glory of it flowed into Anny to fill the void left by the blackness.

At last, Anny Payne knew what she had to do.

She looked down at the lump of fabric in her hands. She carefully smoothed it out and pushed it back into shape. She slowly put it on her head. A drop of water rolled off it to mix with the tears on her cheeks.

Anny drew herself up and came to attention.

Her hand flashed up to her beret in a parade ground salute.

"You never gave up," she said.

Her hand snapped down to her side.

"And neither will I."

Cadet Andreanne Payne faced about and marched back down the hill, shoulders back, head held high.

**End of Book Two**


	5. Book Three

**Tales from the Academy**

Book Three

**Third Form**

**Second Interlude**

**A**dmiral Sylvia Thayer's toe was itching. It was itching quite a lot. The problem was that it was a toe on her right foot and Sylvia Thayer did not have a right foot. She had not had one for over two T-years. She looked down at the metal and plastic contraption that encased where she used to have a right leg and a right foot. There was _something_ in there now, but Thayer was not quite sure what it was. Whatever it was had something that felt like a toe, and it itched.

_Another four months of this? This is going to drive me crazy!_

Thayer's regeneration therapy was nearing completion. The mass of protoplasm and calcium that had been growing inside the cast was now forming itself into a leg-her leg. In theory, when the cast was removed, there would be a leg identical to the one that she had before that awful day on _HMS Redoubtable._ The doctors assured her that everything was going well. The bones had formed, the muscle tissue was forming and the blood vessels and nerves were taking shape.

Thayer could vouch for the part about the nerves.

There was some device in the cast that was supposed to neutralize the impulses from the newly formed nerves. It must have been working or Thayer would have been in agony from the raw piece of meat attached to her that was not quite a leg. However, her doctors had warned her that the neutralizer would not be completely effective.

She could vouch for that, too.

By the time she was finished with the therapy that would be required once the regeneration cast was removed, Thayer would have spent nearly three T-years in the process. There were many times when she wondered if it was really worth it. It was an incredible nuisance being confined to her powerchair. She needed a steward to help her dress and undress, to get her in and out of her bed, and to help with other humiliating activities. Thayer had always done things for herself. She had never liked the idea of having a personal steward and she deliberately rotated them frequently to avoid becoming friends with them. Thayer was not sure why she did that. She told herself that it was because she just was not comfortable with people waiting on her. She tried not to think about the fact that aside from William Hutchinson, she had not permitted herself to have any close friends since Helen died.

The itching slowly faded, but now it felt like her knee was twitching. That was not quite as distracting, so Thayer turned her attention back to her terminal. There were a lot of messages waiting for her, more that usual. That was to be expected considering the rather unusual circumstances.

The totally unexpected return of Commodore-_Rear Admiral now-_Honor Harrington had thrown the whole Navy into confusion. The effects had even reached the Academy. Thayer shook her head. She had never had the privilege of meeting Harrington, but that was going to change soon. Thayer certainly admired her accomplishments-who would not?-but her return from the dead was causing an uproar at every level. The instructors had given up even trying to teach classes for two days following the announcement of Harrington's return. Even after that, there was a noticeable lack of concentration on the part of the students-and some of the instructors, too.

That was two months ago. Somehow they had managed to finish up the form and get the senior class graduated. But now there was a new disruption. There was to be a huge celebratory parade in the City of Landing for Admiral Harrington and the Corps of Cadets was ordered to participate. It was turning into a major headache for Thayer. The newly advanced Third Form class was scattered all over the Manticore A & B systems on a training cruise with Home Fleet. They were going to have to be recalled early; indeed, some of them were arriving even now. The new Fourth Form class was about to depart on its 'prentice cruise and their departures were going to have to be delayed. It was a difficult juggling act to arrange for the 'prentice cruises to begin with. The Academy wanted to put the cadets aboard ships that were heading into combat zones and it was not easy coordinating with the Fleet to arrange that. Unfortunately, what had been arranged would now need to be re-arranged. The only silver lining to this cloud was the fact that the Fourth Form class only had about six hundred and fifty cadets in it. If they had to rearrange things for the _next_ class with almost twenty-five hundred, it would have been a real nightmare.

Just getting all the cadets to Landing at the proper time and place was taking on the complexity of a major planetary invasion. Thayer's staff was working out the details now. Transporting almost nine thousand cadets would require more vehicles than the Academy possessed, even if they made two trips. Thayer had to beg, borrow or steal the additional shuttles she needed. It should not have been a problem, but her staff was finding that the other naval commands on and around Manticore were suddenly becoming very possessive about their small craft. Thayer was being forced to make a lot of personal appeals.

One final disruption was the fact that the new First Form class had only been on Saganami Island for three weeks. Their drill standards were hardly up to snuff and they did not have their mess-dress uniforms yet. Captain Gabriel Keeler was insisting on additional drill time for the new cadets so they would not be an embarrassment during the parade. Meanwhile, Thayer was working with her quartermaster, Commander Sproehnel, to scare up those mess-dress uniforms. There was no hope of getting three thousand cadet swords on such short notice, so they would have to do without.

Somehow all of this had to be done without putting the cadets too far behind in their studies. And, of course, in the midst of it, Thayer still had to deal with all of the usual day to day administrative details of keeping the Academy running. She sighed and forced herself to attack her 'In' folder.

The first item on her terminal was a memo from one of Captain Wagner's instructors. He had heard from a friend of a friend that the Weapons Development Board had a new set of software with the performance specs of a number of new items of equipment. Since it would be just _wonderful_ if the Academy's simulators could have this upgrade, would Thayer _please_ see about getting it for him? Thayer sent that to her "Ignore It and Hope It Goes Away" file.

The next item was from the senior Commissary Officer. He was reviewing the plans for the mess hall expansion that would be required when the last section of the new dormitory was completed. He was concerned that there would not be enough food storage and refrigeration space and he was requesting a meeting about it. Thayer initialed her approval and forwarded it to Gwen to set up the meeting. It was not something Thayer wanted to do, but she could see it was necessary. Under threat of drawing and quartering, the builder had managed to get Phase III of the dorm completed on time and they had not had to double up the cadets the way they had last form. But Thayer had seen far more of the man than she would have liked in the last few months, and if this issue required more changes...

Next came a list of promotions and assignment changes for the Academy staff. She was surprised that this had not been at the top of her 'in' file, but as she read further she realized why it had not been and she smiled. Her recommendation that her adjutant, Christopher Semancik, be promoted to full commander had been approved. Chris must have seen this already, and it was just like him to treat it as routine. Thayer was very glad Chris was getting the recognition that his hard work deserved. A warm feeling of affection filled Thayer as she thought about the young officer. Semancik was the closest thing to a friend that Thayer had at the Academy, but she often thought of him more like a son.

Thinking along that line made Thayer think about young Helen Zilwicki, her goddaughter. Helen had been promoted recently, too. She was now Cadet-Lieutenant Colonel Zilwicki. It was an awkward mouthful of a title, but Thayer was proud of her for it. The Cadet-Colonel position was almost always reserved for the top cadet from the nobility, and that was true for Helen's class. Helen could not hope to rise beyond a battalion commander, which was normally the post for a cadet-major. The cadet-lieutenant colonel rank was an award for achievement that could be given to a deserving cadet that could not go any higher in the command structure. It did not surprise Thayer that Helen had won that rank, but it made her feel good nonetheless.

Item four was a memo from the head of the Grounds Department. Repairing the damage from the big storm two months ago in time for graduation had badly depleted the budget for that department. Unless additional funds were made available, there would be a significant shortfall before the start of the next fiscal year. Thayer made a note to talk to her planning staff about that.

The next item made Thayer grin and shake her head. BuShips was requesting its yearly report on the status of _HMS Bancroft_. The _Bancroft_ had been a cherished Academy tradition even before Thayer had come to Saganami Island, and she would probably be so long after Thayer had retired. The ship was an old, _old_ heavy cruiser. She had been constructed over a hundred and fifty years earlier and had accumulated a combat record that was still unmatched. When the _Bancroft_ had reached the point where even refits could not extend her useful lifespan, someone had come up with the idea of turning her into a training facility on Saganami Island. In retrospect it seemed like a pretty silly idea, but at the time it must have made sense to someone. At considerable expense the heavy cruiser (which was little bigger than a modern light cruiser) had been carefully lowered with tractor beams onto a specially prepared platform built on the island-and there she had stayed ever since. A number of supporting and ancillary buildings had grown up around her and now it was hard to tell that a ship was even there when looking at her from the outside. She was still a commissioned warship and the cadets had affectionately dubbed her the _HMS Landlocked._

Thayer fondly remembered crawling around the inside of the _Landlocked_ when she was a cadet. But the _Bancroft _was so hopelessly obsolete it was hard to see what use she could be now. Even forty years ago Thayer's instructors would usually preface anything they said about the ship's equipment with the phrase: 'We don't use this type of fill in the blank anymore, but...'. The _Bancroft_ was not used for much these days, but no one could stand the thought of getting rid of her. From time to time someone would submit an idea for using the old ship, but they were usually too expensive, or simply impractical. On the other hand, just maintaining the vessel was expensive, too. Commander Haupt had assembled the necessary report and it now required Thayer's signature to ensure that _HMS Bancroft_ was properly accounted for with BuShips for another year.

Thayer was about to attach that signature when a thought struck her. She looked up and glanced around her office at the large collection of artifacts. A few months earlier she had talked to the curator of the Academy Museum about sending some of the items there to be put on display. The curator had tried to be cooperative, but she had mentioned that the museum was already badly over-crowded and had many items in storage for lack of space to display them. _The_ Bancroft _is dozens of times bigger than the current museum - and she's a museum piece of sorts herself!_

Thayer began to get excited. What a wonderful idea! Take a much-revered ship and turn her into a museum. There were already scheduled tours of the island for civilians; they could also tour the _Bancroft._ Yes, that could really work. Thayer began to draft a letter to the Admiralty presenting her idea. She was just getting her thoughts in order when her com buzzed.

"Yes, Gwen?" said Thayer

"Admiral, you had a meeting scheduled for 1500, but the cadet has not arrived," said Thayer's secretary. Thayer checked her appointment schedule and saw who was supposed to be there.

"Why doesn't that surprise me? See if you can locate him and let me know when he gets here."

"Yes, Admiral."

Thayer turned back to her letter, but the interruption had made her lose her train of thought. To top it off, her non-existent toe was itching again. That irritation matched the one that was growing in her brain. _He couldn't even be on time! What am I going to do about this kid?_

The cadet in question was a mystery to Thayer. He came from a noble family that had a long tradition of naval service. He was very bright and could be hard working when he wanted to be. He had also accumulated an incredible number of demerits. Were it not for the new shortened curriculum, he would have a chance to set an Academy record. Yet he was not a typical 'Punk from the Peerage'. He did not have the arrogance that some of them did and he did not get into trouble because he thought he was better than everyone else and could ignore the rules. Or at least it did not seem that way to Thayer. He was not insubordinate and rarely rude-although he did have a big mouth with a barely controlled tongue in it. It seemed like he got into trouble simply to amuse himself-because he knew he could not be kicked out on the basis of demerits. The Admiralty had put the nobility on an equal footing with the commoners in most areas of discipline, but this was not one of them. As long as he did not seriously violate the rules, he was not going to be expelled. He obviously knew it, and it showed in his behavior. If he continued as he had, he would eventually graduate, receive his commission and be sent to the Fleet-an idea that made Thayer cringe. While she was cringing, her com buzzed again.

"Yes?"

"He's here, Admiral," said Thayer's secretary. Thayer was tempted to make him wait a while, but there was no point in that.

"Very well, send him in."

A moment later the door to her office swung open and a small young man walked in, halted in front of Thayer's desk, and saluted.

"Cadet Hinsworth, reporting as ordered, Ma'am."

Thayer returned the salute, but did not put him at ease.

"Cadet, we have been seeing a good deal of each other lately. Far more than I would like, considering the circumstances. Let me see, what is it this time?" asked Thayer.

"Perhaps the report from Captain Ridgway, ma'am?" suggested Alby Hinsworth.

"Oh yes," said Thayer, consulting her terminal. "When the order went out recalling your class from Home Fleet, Captain Ridgway had you off her ship within twenty minutes. The report she sent along makes some interesting reading, Cadet."

"I'm glad I was able to liven up your day, Admiral," said Hinsworth who was staring fixedly out the window behind Thayer's head.

Thayer glared at him. "It's hardly amusing, Cadet: Late for duty on six occasions. Improper uniform on four occasions. Sixteen separate complaints from you superiors on your lack of proper military bearing and courtesy. Unauthorized use of computer facilities on two occasions, and Captain Ridgway suspects at least four other anomalies in computer operations can be attributed to you, but has no proof."

Hinsworth continued to stare out the window.

"I would imagine that reversing the temperature controls in all the showers was your doing, wasn't it? I seem to recall a similar incident in the dormitory. I thought you had progressed to more sophisticated things, Mr. Hinsworth."

"It was more of a challenge on shipboard, ma'am," answered Hinsworth. "The showers are part of the environmental control system-much better security, ma'am."

"I see. All in all, just a typical couple of weeks for you, wasn't it? I suppose Captain Ridgway just needed more time to get used to you-as I have."

Thayer sighed. "Mr. Hinsworth, I received a message from Admiral Givens several weeks ago." The young man stiffened and he frowned. "She was asking me why, in spite of your good grades, you had not been given any cadet rank. I sent her your disciplinary record and a list of your demerits as a reply. I have not heard from her since."

Hinsworth said nothing, but Thayer thought she could detect a faint smile.

"I must admit that I am probably even more grateful than you are that the Admiral did not ask for further information, Cadet. I really don't know what I could tell her. What do you think I _should_ tell her, Mr. Hinsworth?"

Hinsworth considered the question for a moment. "That my record speaks for itself, Admiral?" he said.

"Hmmph!" snorted Thayer. "No one could argue with that!"

"Mr. Hinsworth, I keep coming up with things to say to you that I hope will inspire you-or shame you-into shaping up, only to realize that I've already said them to you before. It is obvious that there is nothing I can do to influence your behavior. You carefully plan your pranks so that they are not serious enough to get you into real trouble. I keep hoping that you will change after you graduate, but it worries me. I'm not sure the Fleet can survive both the Peeps _and _an Ensign Hinsworth."

"It could be a glorious new chapter in the history of the Navy, ma'am."

"No doubt," said Thayer, not at all amused. "Well, we each have our destinies, Cadet. My destiny seems to be to fail utterly to turn you into a responsible officer. Your destiny is to spend another twenty hours on punishment rounds and be confined to quarters for the next week. I'm afraid you will miss the festivities in Landing because of that, but you seem to have no liking for what we do anyway."

"I'm sorry if I am making things difficult for you, ma'am," said Hinsworth. Strangely, it seemed to Thayer that he really _was_ sorry. That in itself was exasperating enough that Thayer suddenly exploded:

"Then why are you doing this!? You could be a fine officer! If you don't want to be an officer, what the devil are you doing here?"

The young man in front of her seemed startled by Thayer's outburst. "I respectfully decline to answer, ma'am," he said after a moment.

Thayer frowned at him. _I shouldn't let him get me upset like that._

"Mr. Hinsworth," said Thayer, regaining her composure, "you seem to think that this is all a game.I can assure you it is not. There is a war on. Men and women are dying as we speak. What are you going to do when the Peeps' missiles are blowing holes in your ship? Reprogram the damage control computer to make the damage go away? When your shipmates are bleeding to death next to you…" at this point Thayer backed her powerchair away from her desk to make sure Hinsworth could see her regeneration cast "…what are you going to do? Tell them a joke?"

Thayer studied the young man as she spoke and her anger turned to curiosity. For the first time, something she said seemed to be getting through to him. The sight of her cast had caused him to turn pale and he seemed visibly shaken and upset.

"Well, Cadet? What are you going to do?"

"I...I don't know, ma'am," he said in a near whisper.

"Then you had better figure it out," said Thayer in an icy voice. "Graduation is seventeen months away and you better have an answer by then, Cadet!"

"Y-yes, ma'am."

"That's all. Dismissed," said Thayer.

Hinsworth saluted and left her office. Thayer stared at the closed door for several minutes then turned back to her terminal.

_What was I doing? Oh yes, the Bancroft._

**Chapter Fourteen**

**A**lby Hinsworth marched forty paces due south. He halted and faced about. He marched forty paces due north, halted and faced about again._ Repeat until done._

He had been doing the same thing for nearly two hours.

Alby was in the courtyard outside the Provost's office and he was doing his punishment rounds. Two hours each day for ten days. He had gotten used to this particular form of exercise and he had lost track of how many hours he had put in during his two forms at Saganami Academy. Even so, after two hours his legs were getting very tired and his shoulder was very sore from the heavy pulse rifle he was carrying. It was the end of summer on the Island and it was hot. Sweat dripped from under his beret and he could feel more sweat trickling down his back. The cobblestone paving was making his feet hurt too.

_Not much longer now_.

As if in answer to his thought, a marine came out of a doorway and shouted: "Squad, Halt!" It seemed a little ridiculous to use the term 'squad' since Alby was the only one there. _These jarheads love their little rituals, don't they?_ But the marine who had halted him was not just another jarhead. With all the time he had spent on punishment rounds, Alby had gotten to know quite a few marines, and none better than Sergeant Donna Lakner. As Alby stood there, she walked over to him.

"All done for today, Mr. Hinsworth," she said.

"Thank goodness!" gasped Alby, wiping sweat from his forehead onto his sleeve. "It's a lot hotter today than it was yesterday."

Lakner relieved him of the rifle. "It's supposed to be even hotter tomorrow. You picked a bad time for this, Mr. Hinsworth."

"Now, then, what difference does it make? This seems to be my lot in life."

Lakner looked at him closely. "You do spend a lot of time here, Mr. Hinsworth. You are picking up some bad habits, if you don't mind my saying so. You're a bit young to be a guardhouse rat."

"Hey, I'm learning a trade," said Alby with a lopsided grin. "Y'know, join the Navy, see the galaxy, learn a skill. Everyone should be good at something."

"Hehehe," chuckled Lakner. "Hardly the proper job for a gentleman, though."

"Exactly what I said to my grandmother before I came here," replied Alby.

Alby and Lakner entered the office off of the courtyard and Lakner logged Alby out. While she was doing that, Alby got a drink of water and mopped the sweat from his matted hair.

"It's a shame you are missing out on the big parade, today," said Lakner as she finished up.

"Oh, I don't mind," said Alby. "It's kind of nice with the island practically deserted like this. Every young man's dream: A deserted tropical island, a bottle of wine, a pretty young girl beside him-you busy later, Sarge?"

This time Lakner did not chuckle, she laughed out loud. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Hinsworth."

"Right, Sarge!" said Alby as he went out the door.

The Provost's office was at the western end of Saganami Island along with most of the older buildings. It was nearly three kilometers back to the dormitory from there, and Alby took his time. Normally there were shuttle buses running continuously, but not today. In theory he was confined to quarters, and should have proceeded directly back to his room, but there was not anyone there to notice if he came in or not. As far as he knew, he was the only cadet on the whole of Saganami Island.

Well before dawn, the cadets had started moving out and the howl of turbines on the small craft had kept Alby awake even though he was not going. Flight after flight took off and it seemed like each one was buzzing Alby's room before it departed. Just after first light, the last of them disappeared in the distance and Alby was alone in the dormitory. Patric and Anny and Helen had knocked on his door before they left to say good-bye, but he had pretended to be asleep.

_They really think that I mind missing out on that stupid parade!_

Alby wandered through the deserted campus. There were a few people around but they were all in the midnight black of the navy or the combat green of the marines rather than gray cadet uniforms. It seemed very strange, but rather pleasant to have the place to himself. _They should do this more often. _But it was hot, and his feet hurt so Albyeventually ended up back at the dorm.

He went into one of the lounges and turned on the HD display. Most of the channels were showing the parade and Alby watched for a while. The City of Landing was pulling out all the stops for Admiral Harrington. In addition to the cadets, there were marines and marching bands and all manner of displays celebrating Harrington's return. Huge crowds of people lined the streets. From time to time the cameras would show the cadets-_midshipmen, I mean_. In the convoluted logic of the Navy, as long as they were on Saganami Island, they were cadets. If they left the island on any official duty, they were suddenly transformed into midshipmen. It made no particular sense that Alby could see. Alby tried to spot someone he knew, but the images were too fleeting and there were just too many midshipmen. It really was pretty spectacular, and a part of Alby was sorry he was not there. _I've done enough marching for one day!_ he told himself, but he knew he was witnessing something very special-and he was not a part of it.

_ But then I've never really been a part of any of this, have I?_

As he watched, the camera zoomed in on Admiral Harrington who was riding in a horse-drawn carriage. Alby could plainly see the black eye-patch she was wearing and the empty left sleeve of her uniform tunic. He shuddered. _That's what happens to people who do become a part of it. That, or worse. _Alby got up and switched off the HD.

He took the lift up to the fourth floor and went into his quarters. The whole dorm was strangely silent. He stripped off his sweaty uniform and tossed it into the laundry chute. Going into the bathroom, he took a very long shower, letting the spray massage his aching shoulder. He came out of the bathroom with just a towel around him. _At least I don't have to worry about offending Anny's sensibilities..._

And then he yelped in alarm as he almost bumped into someone.

"Yow! Oh, it's you Mr. Scoggins! You scared me out of ten years' growth-and I'm too far behind on that as it is!" gasped Alby.

"I'm sorry I startled you, Mr. Hinsworth," said the white-haired man. "I was just tidying up a bit and I heard the water running. I didn't think anyone was still around here. Why aren't you in Landing with everyone else?"

Alby caught his breath and stared at the elderly steward. Mr. Scoggins was one of the civilians the Academy employed as servants for the cadets. Once they finished their first form, the stewards were provided to do basic housekeeping chores: laundry, cleaning, polishing and such for the cadets, so they could concentrate on their studies. Scoggins was responsible for half of 'C' Company. Of course, they really were not civilians, almost all of the stewards were retired navy or marine NCOs and they usually acted like they were still on active duty. Alby had grown up with a lot of servants around him, so having Mr. Scoggins about felt perfectly normal-except when he appeared out of nowhere like that!

"I'm confined to quarters," said Alby in answer to Scoggins' question.

"Again? It seems like you spend half your time doing that, Mr. Hinsworth," said Scoggins in a mildly scolding tone.

"And the other half walking punishment rounds, yes I know Mr. Scoggins. I'm afraid I'm not setting a very good example for an impressionable young fellow like you."

The old man chuckled. "I've done a few punishment details in my time, but you are starting a mite early."

"Why does everyone say that?" muttered Alby.

"Well, I don't want to disturb you," said Scoggins. "I'll tidy up somewhere else for now."

"Oh, that's all right," said Alby. "I'll get dressed and wait out in the lounge until you're done, Mr. Scoggins."

Alby got his clothes and quickly dressed. He then went down the corridor to the study lounge at the end of the building. Slumping into one of the chairs, he stared out at the glittering waters of Silver Gulf.

_Even the stewards are bugging me about it! Just because I'm here they all expect me to be a perfect little tin cadet._ _Well, I'm not, and I'm not going to be!_

Alby's mood grew darker by the moment. He normally kept a lighthearted and irreverent facade in place when other people were around, but right now there was no one around at all and he let the mask slip.

"Damn it," he growled. "Damn it!"

Every single person on Saganami Island was a volunteer. The cadets had to pass a highly demanding series of tests to win the right to come here. The instructors were the most talented and dedicated people the Navy and Marines could find. Even people like Mr. Scoggins had volunteered for their jobs. Everyone was here because they wanted to be.

Everyone except Alby Hinsworth.

He did not want to be here at all. He was not a volunteer, he felt like he had been conscripted, drafted, press-ganged, coerced, dragooned and shanghaied. _A regular galley slave is what I am!_

Oh, he had passed the tests, and he had sworn the oaths and he had signed his name on the dotted line, but he still was not a volunteer-not inside where it mattered. Alby had never wanted to join the Navy. He was here because he was forced to be. His poor behavior was the one form of protest that he could bring himself to do.

_I should have just said 'no', _thought Alby miserably, _I should have told them what they could do with the Academy and their generations of proud traditions! But I was only thirteen. How is a thirteen-year-old going to stand up to a bunch of adults and say 'no'? Hell! Who am I kidding? If I had the chance to do it over again now, I still couldn't say 'no' to Grandma Givens! What a scary old bitch she is!_

Alby swung his legs around until he was sitting sideways with his legs hanging over the arm of the chair. His stomach was growling. He had burned up a lot of calories today, and he had not eaten since breakfast. He was hungry, but he continued to stare out at the ocean. The gloom had been building in him for days and he could not shake it. _We have our leaves coming up in a couple of weeks. Maybe I just need to get away from here for a while._

He had to admit that the Academy was not as bad as he had feared. The work itself was easy enough. Alby was very bright and he had a knack for seeing through to the core of any problem. He was able to solve the problems with a minimum of effort-which gave him spare time to get into trouble. He could see to the core of his own problem just as easily, and he could see several solutions. But he knew he did not have the nerve to employ any of them.

Maybe if the Academy _had_ been as bad as it might have been it would have driven Alby to take one of those ways out. But it was not all that bad and there were even some things that he enjoyed. His roommates for instance. He really liked Patric and Helen and Anny. They were the first real friends he had ever had. Patric was not nearly as bright as Alby and Alby sometimes made him seem like an oaf, but in spite of that, Alby liked the huge, sincere farmboy from Gryphon. He liked Anny a lot too. Of course, everybody liked Anny a lot-well, almost everybody. If she had not been four years older than Alby-and twenty centimeters taller-Alby might have allowed himself to have a crush on Anny. But Anny and Patric were in love anyway, so Alby was content with just liking Anny a lot. And then there was Helen. Alby was not sure exactly how he felt about Helen. He liked her, but her intensity frightened him. He could not imagine anyone more different from himself than Helen, but at the same time he could sense a pain and loneliness in her that mirrored his own feelings.

Alby frowned. _I do like them all and they are my friends. They like me too, but somehow that makes this whole situation even worse. They think I'm just a clown who refuses to take things seriously. They're like Admiral Thayer: they think I'm treating all this like it was a game. Damn! __They__ are the ones who think it's a game! Thayer, Anny, Helen, Patric, my grandmother, all of them! Patric thinks he's one of Edward Saganami's star knights: fighting the Peeps for the honor of the queen and his lady fair. Anny's trying to be some sort of Grayson Joan of Arc. And Helen! Helen's the very Angel of Death, flying across the heavens with a flaming sword to smite the evil Peeps! What's the matter with them? Don't they understand this is for real? While they are marching around here, saluting each other and getting teary-eyed over the Academy's traditions, people are being killed out there!_

Alby shuddered. The thought of being killed 'out there' scared him silly. To be blasted to atoms by the frightful weapons that mankind had created, or left drifting forever in the depths of space as a frozen corpse filled him with horror. Maybe even worse was the thought of losing bits of himself to the war, like Admiral Thayer-or Admiral Harrington. Alby knew he had one thing in common with Harrington-_probably the only thing-_he did not regenerate. To come home a cripple, even with the marvelously sophisticated prostheses they could make these days-no! Not for Alby Hinsworth! Alby was only fifteen T-years old. With Prolong he could expect to live for another two centuries at a minimum-and with likely future advances who knew how long? To be asked to give that up at his age just was not fair!

Alby hated his fears. He knew he was a coward, but he could not help it. It was not that he opposed the war. He knew that if the Peeps won, he and his family would be among the first people the Peeps stuffed out an airlock. No, the war had to be fought and it had to be won-but why did it have to be him that did the fighting? Manticore had over three billion people and scarcely one percent of them were actually in uniform. Far fewer than that were at the pointy end of the stick.

_I'd be willing to serve! Some nice safe staff job-hell! I'd gladly work in a factory or the shipyards! But that won't satisfy them!_ Alby came from a family with a long tradition of serving in the Navy. They would not be satisfied with him safely behind the lines. Admiral Givens would make sure he was put where he would see some action so he could earn a few medals, and uphold the family traditions-and give the Peeps a chance to shoot holes in him!

Outside there was a faint rumble that quickly grew to roar even inside the well-insulated building. Alby recognized the familiar sound of a flight of _Javelin_ Advanced Trainers. Looking out the window he saw the aircraft circling and preparing to land. The trainers had been part of the festivities in Landing. _The parade must be nearly over, _thought Alby. In a few moments he would no longer be the lone cadet on the island.

He looked up as Mr. Scoggins came by and told him he was done in their rooms. Alby got up and walked back to his quarters. He was more depressed than he had been at any time since coming to Saganami Island. He missed his roommates. _I hope they had fun with the parade. Anny must be on cloud nine. I hope she actually got to see Harrington._ The sincerity and dedication of his friends made Alby feel guilty. _They think I'm one of them-just a little different. They don't know the truth. They would not be my friends if they did._

He went into his room and sat down at the computer terminal. He liked to spend his time prowling through the Academy computer network. He had gotten into a lot of places he was not supposed to and he was always looking for new locations that he could break into. Today, however, his heart was not in it. He checked around for a few minutes but then entered a familiar series of commands. After a moment he was staring at the main menu of the Academy Registrar. He had looked at this screen dozens of times. There were many times when he had thought about breaking in and altering his grades-lowering them so he would flunk out. But he knew it was too late now. After two forms, his grade records were too well established to change without everyone knowing. If he had started right at the beginning, lowering his grades a few points on a steady basis he might have managed it-providing he did not get caught.

_But I don't really need to lower them do I? If I just break in-and get caught-it might be enough to get me kicked out. Why don't I do it?_

Alby knew the reason. It was the same reason he did not want to be here: he was afraid. Why had he not just said 'no' in the beginning? Why had he not deliberately flunked the entrance exams? Why had he not flunked his courses? Why had he not done anything that would get him in serious trouble instead of his usual pranks? Why? Because he was afraid. Afraid of his parents, and especially afraid of his grandmother.

_And I underestimated how determined they were to make an officer out of me!_

Alby _had_ treated the whole thing as a joke at first. They would not really do this to him. Surely they would see that he was not cut out to be an officer. Even after he got to the Academy, he felt certain that all of his demerits would show everyone that he was not suited for a naval career. But it had not. In spite of his huge number of demerits, and his terrible attitude, they refused to kick him out.

_And they won't. No matter what I do!_ A chill went through Alby. He began to feel like a trapped animal. The situation was out of his control. He suddenly realized that even if he had the courage to do something seriously wrong, it still might not get him kicked out. With Admiral Givens' influence, they would probably cover it up somehow. Unless he walked up to the Queen and spit in her face at the graduation ceremony they were going to make an officer out of him, no matter what he did.

And then once they had that black uniform on him, his grandmother would see to it that he was put on a fast ship going in harm's way. And she would not be satisfied until the Peeps had shot him full of holes and his mother got that "sincere regrets" communications from the Admiralty!

Alby got up from his desk and threw himself face down on the bed.

**Chapter Fifteen**

**A**lby Hinsworth lay on his bed and looked at the wooden beams in the ceiling of his bedroom. This was his room, not the one the Academy was lending to him, _his!_ He had stared at this ceiling in this room for nearly fourteen T-years. He had been away for less than two years. _Why does it seem so strange now? This is where I belong, isn't it?_

He got up from the bed and wandered around the large room. The afternoon sun streamed in the windows and through the lacy curtains, making shadow patterns on the floor. Everything was spotless and neat. _Maybe that's why it seems strange: I could always mess it up faster than the servants could clean._ Cabinets and bookshelves lined two of the walls. Alby opened one of the cabinets and looked at the rows and rows of toys, games, stuffed animals and all manner of junk. Everything was just as he had left it-well, it was considerably neater than he had left it, but it was hard to believe that the things had ever been his. It was all from some other life. He spotted one of his favorite toys and took it off the shelf. He stood there looking at it while tears welled in his eyes. _Why couldn't they have left me alone? I was happy here._

He put the toy back on the shelf. He felt like he was in a museum instead of his bedroom. _A collection of artifacts from a lost childhood. _ He shut the door and turned away.

Alby walked over to the window and looked out on the grounds of the Hinsworth estate. Carefully tended gardens and manicured lawns stretched to the distant woods. This is where he had played. He had run across those lawns with the warm sun on his face. He had torn up handfuls of flowers to give to his mother-much to her delight and the gardeners' anguish. This had been his home. _Don't I belong here anymore? _His gaze shifted to the clear blue sky. He imagined the blackness that lay beyond that sky; the hard motionless specks of the cruel stars and he shuddered. _I don't belong there either!_

The gloom that had infected him back at the Academy was still with him. In the two weeks between the parade and when the cadets left for their leave, he had been moody and uncommunicative. His roommates had wondered what was wrong with him. Now he was home and he felt even worse.

Alby had just flopped back on his bed to resume staring at the ceiling when there was a knock on his door. It opened and one of the servants looked in.

"Master Alby, dinner is in half an hour. May I lay out your clothes for you, sir?" asked the man.

"That would be fine, Nestor," answered Alby. He had known Nestor all his life and he suddenly felt more at home than he had since he arrived that morning. He sat up on the bed and watched the man bustle about, getting clothing from the wardrobe and laying it out.

"How are things going around here, Nestor?"

"Oh, very well, sir," said Nestor, looking up from his task. "Your parents are quite well, although I daresay they miss you. All of us do. But we are very proud of what you are doing, Master Alby."

"Why?" asked Alby in genuine surprise.

Nestor seemed as startled by the question as Alby had been by the original statement. "Why, sir? Well who wouldn't be proud to have a son at the Academy, sir? It is very brave what you are doing, Master Alby. Defending us from the Peeps and all."

Alby looked down at the bedspread and did not know what to say. _Is everyone crazy but me?_

"And how is the Old Man?" asked Alby to change the subject.

Nestor gave him that scolding look that he knew so well. "_The Duke_ is doing as well as can be expected, sir, but his health is not what it used to be. He will be at dinner tonight though. I'm sure he is eager to see his grandson."

The servant finished laying out the dinner clothes. "Will you be needing me for anything else, sir?"

"No, Nestor, they taught us how to dress ourselves at the Academy."

"Indeed, sir? Imagine that!" Nestor grinned and then left the room.

Alby leaned back on his bed and kicked off his shoes. He slowly began to peel off his socks using only his feet while he stared at the ceiling again. _So the Old Man will be at dinner. Oh joy. That should make this a happy homecoming!_ His paternal grandfather, Albustus Hinsworth, Duke of Somerton, was nearly as scary as his maternal grandmother, Admiral Patricia Givens, Second Space Lord. _Caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea! At least __she__ won't be here, too!_

His socks finally removed, Alby sat up and started getting the rest of his clothing off. The clothes Nestor had gotten out for him were brand-new. Alby had grown a little while at the Academy and somehow they had gotten his new measurements so the clothes fit perfectly.

The Duke was the fifth Hinsworth to be named Albustus. Alby's father was the sixth and Alby himself was the seventh. _Shows what sort of guts this family has, to stick with a silly name like that for so long rather than offend some ancestor! If I ever live long enough to have a son, I'm gonna name him Ralph! _

The Duke was a very powerful member of the Centrist party but he was getting old. He had married late and Alby's father was quite young-young enough to be a third generation Prolong recipient. When the current Duke died, Alby's father could expect to hold the title for a very long time. Which would have been fine with Alby if they had not sent him to the Academy. The life of the idle rich would have suited Alby very well. But now, with a centuries long military career looming ahead of him-provided he did not get killed-the title of duke was a lot more attractive. It was an honorable way out of the Navy. But that too was denied him. _Will they let me quit once the war is over? Who am I kidding? They'll keep me in until they find somebody that's willing to blow my head off!_

Alby finished dressing and inspected himself in the mirror. He had never noticed before how silly formal civilian clothes seemed. His uniform _was_ a lot more practical...

He checked the time and then left his bedroom and headed down the stairs. When he reached the foyer, he was about to turn and head towards the dining room when something caught his eye in the library. Walking into the room, he saw that there were two new paintings hung over the fireplace. He stared at them with a growing mixture of anger and horror.

On the left was a portrait of his Uncle Harry and on the right was a portrait of himself.

Both of them were in uniform.

Alby stood there clenching his fists. _Damn you! This was all your fault! Damn you!_

The painting on the left showed Captain of the List, Sir Harold Givens of the Royal Manticoran Navy.

It was the picture of a dead man.

Alby had scarcely known his mother's brother. They had only met a few times when Alby was very young. But four years ago Uncle Harry had gotten himself killed in some pointless battle around Trevor's Star.

And Alby's freedom had died with him.

The Hinsworth family had no tradition of service in the Navy, but the Givens family certainly did. His grandmother was the Second Space Lord and her ancestors had been naval officers all the way back to the days of Edward Saganami. Admiral Patricia Givens had two children. The son, Harold, had gone to the Academy. Somehow, Alby's mother had avoided that fate. She had married Alby's father and left the naval glory to her brother. But then, suddenly, her brother was dead. Alby had been only eleven, but he could still vividly remember his mother's grief. Alby's attention was solely on his mother at that time-it never even occurred to him that the fact that Uncle Harry had not married or had children should mean anything to Alby Hinsworth.

But it did mean something. It meant a great deal. It meant that Alby Hinsworth would now be the one to carry on a great family tradition. His name might not be Givens, but he was now the heir of the Second Space Lord and yes, _of course_, he would be going to the Academy as soon as he was old enough.

Alby was never even asked. He was told. And that was that. He did not know what sort of deal Admiral Givens had made with the Duke, but he was sure there was one. Both of them saw some advantage in sending Alby to the Academy, and Alby's wishes meant nothing. He was just a pawn in some game of power and pride and prestige that he did not understand.

Alby's gaze shifted from the portrait of his uncle to the one of himself. It showed him in his cadet uniform. The artist had made him look older and more mature than he really was. The expression on his face was serious and stern-Alby's friends would have laughed if they saw this. Alby would have laughed himself if he was not so angry: they had forced him into a mold that did not fit him and now they were trying to tell the world that he fit just fine! Lies and more lies! He was on the verge of picking up a small sculpture sitting on a table and hurling it at the painting when a voice interrupted him.

"Alby! There you are, darling! Oh dear! Someone left the doors open-I was hoping to surprise you with this later! Do you like it?"

Alby turned and saw his mother standing in the doorway. His anger melted at the sight of her. _She always looks so beautiful. I've missed her so much-how could she have let them do this to me?_

"It's very nice, Mother," he heard himself saying. "Uncle Harry looks fine. I seem to have aged a bit though."

"Artistic license, dear. I'm sure you will look more like the portrait by the time you graduate."

_Make the reality fit the ideal instead of the other way round. That's exactly what they are doing to me, isn't it?_

Alby wanted to be angry with his mother. Angry the way he was with all the other people running his life, but he could not. He loved her too much for that. Nevertheless, it was Constance Givens-Hinsworth who had really forced Alby to go to the Academy. The others had bullied or cajoled or threatened him, but it was his mother's quiet statement that she would be very disappointed if Alby refused to go that he could not fight. He could not stand the thought of disappointing her. So he went.

_Why did she do it? Why wouldn't she stand up for me? I know she loves me. She sends all those letters saying how much she misses me. She's terrified I'll end up like Uncle Harry, so why did she do it?_

Alby stood looking at his mother and for the first time really noticed how much she looked like her brother. He could even see the resemblance to his grandmother. Right now she had a faint smile on her face, but she looked troubled. Her hands were clasped together in front of her and they were shaking ever so slightly. She was wearing a necklace and a small cameo hung down on the breast of her suit. A tiny painting of Alby's grandmother stared out at him.

Alby had assumed that the others-the Admiral and the Duke and maybe his father, too-had pressured his mother to make him go. Now a new and shocking thought came to Alby. Maybe that was not it at all.

_My mother loves my grandmother! She doesn't want to disappoint Grandma Givens any more than I want to disappoint her!_

It seemed incredible that anyone could love that old tyrant, but he thought back to the times that he had seen his mother and grandmother together. It was true; they did love each other! The whole perspective of Alby's world seemed to shift under his feet. Givens had been the enemy, his mother should have been an ally, but now he was not sure. He felt a sudden pity for his mother. His anger at his grandmother should have been even greater, but he could not seem to focus it. Everything was confused.

_Does anyone really have control? Other people are controlling my life, but still other people are controlling theirs! Does anyone, even the Admiral, have freedom to chose?_

Alby walked over and put his arms around his mother. He rested his head on her shoulder and tried not to cry.

The dinner went better than he had hoped, but it ended about the way he expected.

His grandfather kept them all waiting for ten minutes before he arrived. Then he came in very slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. He looked much older than the last time Alby had seen him. Alby had never seen much of the Duke when he was growing up. His political duties kept him in Landing most of the year and he only rarely returned to the estate in Somerton.When he did come home, he treated Alby kindly enough, but he was always complaining that Alby's parents were spoiling him and not instilling him with proper respect or discipline. In all fairness, Alby could not really argue with that judgement: the precocious and irreverent behavior that Alby's roommates had come to expect from him was not some persona that he had created just for the Academy! Even so, it had not endeared the Old Man to him-or vice versa.

The dinner itself was pleasant enough. The food was very good and reminded Alby just how plain the Academy food really was. A soup made from native Manticoran mushrooms led off and it was one of Alby's favorites. There was a salad and then the main course, a glazed east-borders pheasant. It was really good and Alby was glad the Duke waited for him to finish before cutting loose on him. During the dinner the Duke kept up a steady stream of conversation on the political situation in the capital. Since things were going quite well in that department, the old man was in a good mood. Alby's father did most of the rest of the talking although it was usually just in reply to the Duke.

Alby watched his father closely during the dinner. He noticed just how completely the Duke seemed to dominate him. Alby had never really paid attention to that before but it seemed obvious that his father was nearly as intimidated by the old man as Alby was. Alby's father was the heir to the duchy and it would not be too many more years before he inherited the title. It would have made sense for the old Duke to have given his successor some part to play in running thing to get him ready to take over, but the Duke had not. Alby's father had a few business concerns that kept him occupied, but the Duke allowed only his own hands on the reins of power. _He wants total control of everything- including me._

As dinner was winding down and the servants were clearing away most of the dishes, the old man finally turned his attention to Alby.

"So, boy," said his grandfather, fixing his eyes on him, " how are you liking a military life?"

"Well, I prefer it to a military death, sir," replied Alby meeting his stare. Alby's mother inhaled sharply, but did not say anything.

"Meaning you don't care for it at all, I take it. That does not surprise me. You had it too soft growing up. If I'd been able to spend more time here, you might have grown up with some discipline-and a backbone."

"I thought lack of a backbone was a great family tradition, sir," said Alby. He said it with a steady voice, but Alby was trembling inside. He had never dared speak this way to the Old Man before.

"Alby!" whispered his mother in shock.

Alby half expected his grandfather to explode. The old man did have a terrible temper, but to Alby's surprise the ancient patriarch just chuckled.

"Heh, maybe you have a bit more than I thought."

"A backbone perhaps," continued the Duke after a moment, "but certainly no discipline. I had a conversation with Admiral Givens the other day, boy. She's none too happy with your performance at the Academy. It took her almost an hour of bending my ear just to touch on the highlights of your foolishness."

"I hope she did not leave out where I reprogrammed the elevators in the dorm, I'm rather proud of that one," said Alby.

Alby's mother and father were staring at him wide-eyed.

The Duke's expression turned colder. "No discipline, just as I said. Listen, boy, I don't give a damn what sort of pranks you play, but I will not have you making a laughing stock of our family! I'm hearing from other members of the Peerage about how their children are doing at the Academy. About how their children have achieved cadet ranks and other recognitions. When they ask me about you, what am I supposed to tell them?"

"Why don't you just tell them the truth, Grandfather? The whole truth. But I forgot, you don't do that sort of thing in your line of work."

"Albustus!" exclaimed Alby's father, "I won't have you talking that way to your elders!"

"Too late for that now, son," said the Duke with a grim smile. "If you'd trained him that way years ago-with a good dose of the strap thrown in-it might have made a difference, but not now."

"It's too late for us to do anything about this young rascal," continued the Duke. "But maybe the Navy can do what we cannot-not that they are doing much of a job either. Perhaps I should see about getting that commandant replaced. She's obviously not doing much of a job when it comes to discipline. Not a drop of noble blood in her either." Alby stiffened and glared at the old man. "And I've been looking at the people he spends his time with too, his roommates."

Alby was on the edge of his chair. He was totally focused on the Duke and the anger was building in him. He had expected a real dressing down, but this was going in unexpected directions.

"That Zilwicki girl seems like she would be a good influence, but those other two should probably go. Why they'd put some common lout from Gryphon in with you, I can't imagine. The Grayson girl could have been useful politically, but I understand she screwed up royally last form, she can't be much good. We need to get some responsible

members of the Peerage around you, some good officers, maybe that will shape you up."

Alby was slowly coming to a boil. He was angrier than he had ever been in his life. He stood up and pushed his chair back.

"What could _you_ possibly know about good officers!?" he shouted. "Patric and Anny and Helen are better people than anyone sitting in this room! And Admiral Thayer, how dare you talk about her like that?! How _dare_ you!? She's put her life on the line and lost her leg protecting your precious ass! Just because you can control _us_ doesn't mean..."

"_Sit down_!"

Alby would never have believed that a bellow like that could come from those old lips, and he was shocked into silence. Both his parents were staring at him in disbelief and several of the servants had frozen as well. The Duke's face was a bright red and he seemed furious. Alby did not say any more, but he did not sit down either.

"Alby! What's gotten into you?" gasped his mother after a moment.

"Albustus!..." began his father, but the Duke cut him off.

"Quiet, both of you. Like I said, it's too late for us to teach him discipline, but I won't be spoken to like that in my own house. Go to your room, boy, and stay there." The Duke spoke in a quiet tone and there was a slight scratchiness to his voice like perhaps he strained something with that amazing shout. The redness in his face slowly faded.

Alby stared at him for a moment. He was tempted to say something more, but decided against it.

"Yes, sir," he said and he walked around the table and out of the room.

Alby did not notice the tiny grin on the Duke's face.

**Chapter Sixteen**

"**C**onfined to quarters again," said Alby as he closed the door to his bedroom. "Well, it serves me right, I broke Rule Number One: 'Never stick your neck out for anyone.'"

Alby sat down on his bed. He was trembling. He was still angry and he was frightened, too. But there was a growing elation as well. _I actually stood up to the old so-and-so!_ He was amazed at himself, but when his grandfather started saying those things about his friends-and Admiral Thayer-he just could not stand it. _And what can he do to me anyway? He's already done his worst!_

As he sat there, the anger faded somewhat and he was struck by the absurdity of the situation. Sent to his room! They wanted him to be a great naval hero and they sent him to his room! _I can see the headlines now: "Admiral Hinsworth runs amok! Commands Home Fleet to vaporize ancestral home! Cites childhood incident!" _ Alby began to chuckle and before long he was laughing out loud.

Eventually he stopped laughing and looked around the room. He felt better than he had in weeks. His roommates would have recognized the gleam that was now in his eye.

"Lock me up will they? Nya-ha-ha! The joint hasn't been built that can hold Alby Hinsworth!"

He walked over to his desk, sat down, and fired up his computer terminal. He typed in a few commands and before long he had opened up the back door into the estate security system. He called up a security screen that showed a plan of the entire estate. He could zoom in anywhere and it would show icons representing every single person on the grounds. He had been breaking into this part of the system since he was nine years old-it had been great fun. He focused on the main house and he could see that his grandfather and parents were still in the dining room. Servants and security people were scattered about. His own icon was located in his bedroom. So far so good. He scrolled over to the Security Office. There were three people on duty, including Captain Renquist, the Duke's security chief. They had the same information available to them-except they did not know that Alby had that information, too. Now to plan his escape...

In theory he could just walk out. Once he took the Academy oath he was considered legally an adult and no one had any right to restrict his movements. In practice, they might try to stop him or at least deny him any transportation. At the very least they would assign a security person to go with him. Anyhow, it was a lot more fun to do it this way!

Alby made a few tentative attempts to break into the command section of the security software. He was not surprised that the codes and protocols had been changed since he left. He was not discouraged in the slightest. He went to the closet and got his compad out of his bag. A few minutes later he had linked to his terminal on Saganami Island. He then downloaded a certain decryption routine he had cobbled together out of some older military software. Five minutes after that, he was inside the security computer of the Hinsworth Estate. _Tsk! Tsk! Grandfather, you need to update your security!_

First to plant the decoy. He made a few adjustments to the subroutine that tracked his own movements. He saw his icon move to the bed. It would now stay there no matter where Alby himself moved. Next he made sure that the household sensors would not pick him up as an intruder. That was easy enough to do. He used the transponder on his compad to identify the person carrying it to the computer-and instructed the computer to ignore that person.

Now for transportation. He called up the garage. He entered a message to the attendant to have an aircar ready for Alby Hinsworth's use in ten minutes. All the authorization codes were correct. Unknown to the attendant, the normal copy of the order that should have gone to the Security Office disappeared into some black hole in cyberspace.

Finally, to cover the tracks. He did basically the same trick with the aircar's signature that he had just done to his own. As far as Security was concerned, the aircar would never leave the garage, and the aircar Alby would soon be flying would never appear on their screens.

Alby leaned back and grinned. Twenty minutes of work and he was ready to go. Best of all, there was no breach in the security of the estate-any real intruder would still be detected as usual. _Wouldn't they be so proud of me: putting my education to such good use! _He got up and quickly changed into some casual clothes. Picking up his compad, he walked out of the room. Using the security display to guide his movements, he went down the back stairs and was out of the house without being seen. A short walk brought him to the garage. The attendant had the aircar ready and waiting.

"Thank you, Karin," he said as he got in.

"My pleasure, sir. Where are you off to tonight?" said the attendant with a smile.

"Just a joyride, Karin, just a joyride."

A few minutes later he was in the air and headed for Landing.

Now that he was on his way, Alby realized that he did not know where he wanted to go. He was headed for Landing just because it was not too far away and he knew the city fairly well. He had a credit chip so there was no problem about money-except if his parents were really determined to track him down-and they would be-they could locate him the first time he used it. For that matter, once they discovered he was gone, they could do an override and locate the aircar as well. It was not like Alby really wanted to escape, but he was having fun and it just would not do to spoil the game now. So, the first step was to ditch the car.

He set the destination for a public garage in the heart of Landing. From there he could take public transportation wherever he wanted. It was a twenty-minute flight and towards the end of it he started to get a little nervous. If his mother went up to his room to talk to him and discovered that he was not there, they would be on his trail. He knew that they would not just ignore his absence. It was a dangerous world, and he was the grandson of a very important man-they would have to find him. But he reached the garage and there was no sign of any problem. Night had fallen and the city blazed with lights. He went to the public transit station and used the credit chip to get a transit pass good for a week-they could track him to here because of the car anyway, but it would be much harder to track him after this.

On the platform he looked at the map of the city and the various routes he could take. Where to go? He had a few relatives here, but he did not particularly want to visit any of them. Friends? None that he could just drop in on. Wait a minute...

He took out his compad and did a quick inquiry. He compared the readout with the transit map and made his decision. He walked over to one of the boarding area and waited for the next grav train to arrive. It was only a few minutes and he was zipping through the city towards one of the outlying suburbs. The city towers gradually gave way to smaller buildings and more open land. Ten minutes later he got off the train and took a lift down to the street. A few more minutes of brisk walking brought him to a walled compound of buildings. He came up to the entrance where a sign read:

Grayson Embassy

There was a small guardhouse by the entrance and a tough looking man with a gun was there to challenge him.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked politely.

"Yes, I'm here to ask for political asylum," said Alby with a straight face.

The man looked at him with an expression of surprise and confusion. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Sorry, that was a joke. I'm a friend of Deputy Consul Payne's daughter, Andreanne. She invited me here."

"I see. Just a moment, sir," said the guard. He picked up a communicator and spoke into it briefly and then waited for a reply. After a moment he put it down and turned back to Alby. "If you'll wait a moment, someone will be here to meet you, sir."

"Fine," replied Alby.

It was only a few minutes before the door opened and there was Anny, Patric and Helen!

"Alby!" cried Anny. "I did not think you would be able to come!" She stepped forward and hugged him warmly. Alby closed his eyes and hugged her back-it was the most welcome embrace he had ever received.

When they stepped apart, Alby exchanged greetings with Patric and Helen. It had been less than twenty-four hours since he had last seen his roommates, but they were still a sight for sore eyes. Patric and Helen were wearing ordinary civilian clothes, but Anny was dressed in traditional Grayson fashion. The narrow bodice and long flowing skirt was very graceful. It was also very different from Manticoran clothing. Alby was used to seeing Anny in her uniform, but somehow the dress seemed to suit her better, and he said so. Anny laughed.

She led Alby into the compound and he looked around curiously. The outside of the place had looked like a fortress: high walls and tiny windows. Inside, it looked much more comfortable. The buildings formed the outer ring around an inner courtyard. They rose four or five stories at the outside but then stepped down as they went inward, forming a series of terraces and roof gardens. The entire compound was roofed over with a transparent dome. There were tiny lights on the buildings and attached to the dome that bathed the compound in a gently glow. Small trees, flowers and hanging vines grew everywhere. Alby found the whole scene enchanting.

"Is this traditional Grayson architecture, Anny? he asked.

"Yes," replied Anny, "we have made a few changes, but many of the older structures on Grayson are very much like this. Before we could build big domes to protect whole towns, we built smaller enclosures. Usually an extended family would inhabit something like this."

Alby considered that. The deadly concentrations of heavy metals in Grayson's environment required that buildings be sealed very carefully. An arrangement like this would allow people to meet and work without going outside-and still escape the claustrophobia of living indoors constantly.

Anny led him to a set of steps that went up between two of the buildings. The steps wove around corners and connected to the terraces on either side as it worked its way upward. There were people on some of the terraces who greeted Anny as she passed. Finally, they came to a large roof garden that was perhaps three stories above ground level. Alby heard a number of voices and he suddenly smelled food cooking.

"You are just in time for the barbecue, Alby, good timing!" said Anny cheerily.

"The what?"

"It's like an outdoor meal, a picnic," said Patric.

They stepped onto the terrace and Alby saw that there were about a dozen other people there. Anny led Alby over to a man he recognized from a dinner at Commandant Thayer's house. He was standing over some sort of portable stove with a white apron tied around him and a strange looking white hat on his head.

"Father? You remember my friend, Alby Hinsworth, don't you?"

"Yes, of course. Hello, Mr. Hinsworth, welcome to our home." He wiped his hand on his apron and extended it to Alby. His tone was as warm as the heat radiating off his stove.

"Thank you, sir," replied Alby with a smile, taking his hand. "I hope I'm not intruding, and please call me Alby."

"Not intruding at all, Alby," replied Mr. Payne. "Always glad to see a friend of my daughter, and we always have 'way too much food at these things anyway! Anny, make our guest comfortable."

"Yes, Father," said Anny. She led Alby around to meet the other people. Anny's two mothers, Rachel and Ruth, Alby had met before, although he still could not remember which was which. They gave him friendly hugs. Anny's three sisters and young brother were new to Alby, but they greeted him warmly as well. The others seemed to be embassy staff and Alby was not sure what relation, if any, they had with Anny's family.

Shortly, Alby was seated with his friends with a cold drink by his side and chatting with them enthusiastically.

"You are certainly in a good mood tonight, Alby," said Patric.

"Yes, we were starting to worry about you there for a while," said Anny.

"Oh, I just needed a change of scene, I guess," said Alby, "And I think this is as good as I could ask for. Thanks for inviting me, Anny."

"It _has_ been quite a grind, but we are over halfway done now!" said Patric with a smile. Alby did not really need to be reminded of that, but he was not going to let anything ruin his evening, so he smiled in turn.

"Come and get it!" shouted Anny's father suddenly. Most of the other people got to their feet and walked over to the tables that were loaded with food.

"I thought the Grayson women did all the cooking," whispered Alby to Helen.

"Apparently they do, except at barbecues," replied Helen quietly. "I'm not sure what the significance is, but it may be religious."

Helen's theory seemed to be confirmed when the Graysons, led by Anny's father, said a prayer over their food before they started to eat. Alby had already eaten dinner, but the smells from the food had his mouth watering and he was soon stuffing himself. Patric was putting away enormous quantities and even Helen was filling her slender frame. Alby especially liked the bison ribs with the tangy sauce they had been cooked in. They were incredibly messy to eat, but no one seemed to mind and everyone was soon laughing.

After the meal was over, the women cleared most of the dishes away (although there were still plenty of things to eat). Anny and one of her sisters ducked through a door and soon returned. Anny had a geetar-a different one from what she had at the Academy-and her sister had a smaller stringed instrument that she called a fiddle. The two started playing some lively tunes and most of the Graysons sang along. It was great fun. Alby noticed that a number of other people were looking down on them from higher terraces and enjoying the music. After a while, the tone of the music changed. Anny and her sister sang some songs that were slow, sad and heartbreakingly beautiful. Alby felt like he had fallen into some fairy tale that his mother used to tell him.

Suddenly the music was lively again and Anny called out to her friends: "Let's give them 'The Plebes' Lament'!" Alby, Helen and Patric looked at each other in surprise for a moment and then joined in with the irreverent (but fortunately not dirty) song that Anny and Jonathan Cresswell-Jones had made up during their first form. The other Grayson's seemed surprised at first but were soon clapping to the music. When they finished up there was a gale of laughter and applause. Anny and her sister bowed to the audience and the applause grew louder as the other onlookers joined in.

Anny came over and sat next to Patric. She was flushed and sweaty, but there was a gleam in her eye. Alby suddenly remembered that awful day, last form, when Anny was on the verge of resigning-what a change!

"I never told you guys," she said between gasps, "but the tune to 'The Plebes' Lament' is an old, old song called 'The Battle Cry of Grayson'. It goes 'way back to our civil war."

Things quieted down for a while and everyone just talked or ate, or both. It was very pleasant. Alby felt extremely content. He was getting drowsy when Anny's father stood up and said: "How about a little dancing?"

_Dancing?_ thought Alby, but quick as a wink the furniture was moved aside and a space cleared in the center of the terrace. Anny pulled Patric to his feet and led him to the dance area. Alby looked around awkwardly. He was about to ask Helen if she wanted to dance when Anny's sister-the one who had been playing the fiddle-came up to him.

"Would you dance with me, Mr. Hinsworth?"

Alby looked into her face. She was nearly as pretty as Anny and had those same wonderful green eyes.

"Sure," he heard himself say.

They called it 'square dancing'. One of the other Graysons took up the fiddle and played and called out instructions at the same time. Alby never did learn what he was doing: the steps were far more complicated than the battalion drill that he had so much trouble with at the Academy. Even so, it was great fun and the others pushed or pulled him where he was supposed to go. His partner was named Abigail and she was very patient with his inexperience. Anny and Patric were dancing together, of course, and Helen was dancing with Anny's young brother who, in spite of being half Alby's age, could do the dances far better than he.

During a break between dances, Alby found himself sitting with Abigail. She really was very pretty-and just about Alby's age.

"May I call you 'Albustus', Mr. Hinsworth?" asked Abigail shyly.

Alby winced. "Please, 'Alby' is fine, Abigail."

"Alby it is then, and you may call me 'Abbie'".

They sat there in silence for a few moments. Alby did not know what to say. He glanced around the terrace to avoid Abbie's appraising eyes. He saw Anny and Patric standing by one of the food tables. There was something odd about them and he suddenly realized that they were holding hands.

"They are in love, isn't it wonderful?" said Abigail, following his gaze. Alby was startled and looked at the girl, then back at Anny and Patric.

"But Patric is Anny's 'male protector'. He's not supposed to...is he?" asked Alby in confusion.

Abigail laughed. "When a young, single, unrelated man is made the 'male protector' of a young, single woman, it is like a sort of pre-betrothal."

"What? Does Patric know that?"

"Do you think he would really mind?" replied the girl.

"Well, probably not," admitted Alby. "But what about your father? Isn't he worried...?"

"That Patric and Anny will have sex?" said Abigail with a sly look on her face. Alby blushed but nodded. "My father is a man of honor. He believes that Patric is, too. I think he is probably right."

Alby considered that and looked back at his two friends, still holding hands. Alby nodded his head again, Abigail was probably right about that, too.

"Patric's going to have to watch out for Anny, though," continued Abigail and her sly look became positively wicked. "When Anny decides she wants something, nothing much can stop her!"

"You mean like her wanting to go to the Academy?" asked Alby.

"Yes, that, too," said Abigail and her smile faded. "She was very determined-and very brave. I could never be that brave." She looked at Alby. "You must be very brave too, Alby."

Alby was startled and then he blushed. "No, if I'd been brave, I never would have gone to the Academy."

Now Abigail looked confused. "I don't think I understand."

Alby looked at this pretty girl sitting next to him. He had always kept his mask up when other people were around, but now he let it down. He told Abigail the truth-the whole truth. It took a while and they missed several of the dances. Alby hardly noticed. He really did not notice anything except those green eyes that Abigail kept fixed on him. He certainly did not notice Abigail's mothers watching them from a distance, nor the smiles on their faces.

When he finished his story, Alby looked down at the ground, embarrassed by what he had told this near-stranger. He was startled when a slender hand reached out to touch his own.

"I still think you are very brave, Alby," said Abigail. "It is not easy to fight your destiny."

"My destiny?" said Alby. He was startled, and he had a flash of Admiral Thayer talking about their respective destinies.

"Yes, everyone has a destiny. Some people try to fight theirs. That is hard and it makes them unhappy. I feel sorry for you, Alby Hinsworth."

"What do you know about my destiny? Are you Graysons fortune tellers too?" asked Alby, now totally confused.

"No," laughed Abigail, "but sometimes you can see someone's destiny if you look at them closely. I think my sister is destined to do great things. I think Patric is destined to love her. I could be wrong, but I think it is your destiny to be a naval officer, Alby. If you fight that too hard, it will only make you unhappy."

"So you think I should just give up and let other people run my life?"

"Someone runs everybody's life," replied Abigail with great assurance. "If not their parents or their society, then God."

Alby could see a dozen holes in her argument, but somehow he had no desire to argue philosophy with the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

"You may be right, Abbie," he said instead. "Come on, they are starting another dance."

**Chapter Seventeen**

"**I** don't know, Alby, it sounds awfully risky to me."

Alby Hinsworth was walking across campus with his friend, Jon Arlov. Jon and Alby were kindred spirits when it came to computers. Jon was not a close friend like Anny or Patric or Helen, but Alby spent a good bit of time with him, either in the flesh or on line. They had collaborated on a few of Alby's more elaborate computer pranks, but it seemed like Jon was not too keen on Alby's latest idea.

"Ah, but without risk, there is no glory," replied Alby.

"Without risk, I'd feel a whole lot better," countered Arlov.

"There's not that much risk to begin with, Jon," persisted Alby. "I can cover our tracks so no one will know who did it. Besides it will all be done from my terminal, there's no way they can implicate you."

"Yeah, but they are sure to suspect it was you and they know we hang out a lot," Arlov pointed out.

"True, that's the problem with keeping bad company, Jon!"

"But, it _does_ sound like a real good gag," admitted Arlov with a small smile.

"Of course it is! And can you think of a more deserving target than Her Majesty and His Nibs?"

"I can't argue with that. All right, I'll think about it," said Arlov.

"Don't think too long; we don't have much time to pull this off," said Alby.

"Okay, I'll drop by tonight and let you know. Which entrance are you starting from today?"

"Four-B," replied Alby, taking the change in subject without missing a stride, "and you?"

"Six-D, so I guess I'll see you later. Good luck!" said Arlov.

"I make my own luck-see you, Jon," said Alby and the two cadets split up as they neared the huge structure looming in front of them.

Alby was reporting to _HMS Bancroft_. The grounded starship that the cadets called the _HMS Landlocked_ was on the edge of Kreskin field on the opposite side of the harbor from the Cadet Dormitory. Looking carefully, it was possible to pick out the hammerhead shape of the ancient warship. A number of buildings and access gantries were attached at various points and these helped to disguise the _Bancroft's_ true nature.

Alby came to gantry number four and took the lift up to 'B' level. This was a compartment that connected to one of the ship's airlocks. Two dozen cadets were already there with an instructor from the Engineering Department, Lieutenant Ewashen.

"Now that we are _all_ here," said the Lieutenant eyeing Alby coldly, "I believe we are ready to begin." Alby stared straight ahead with a look of innocence on his face.

"You have all done this before, but I will briefly remind you of the objective of this exercise. We want you to become familiar with moving around inside a warship. During active service you may find yourself needing to get to remote locations quickly. It is important for you to be able to navigate inside a ship and find your way from point to point in an efficient fashion. The _Bancroft_ may be old, but her layout is still basically the same as a modern warship. This makes her perfectly suitable for our purposes.

"In a few moments you will be sent into the ship, one by one. As you enter, you will find a destination point displayed on your compad. It will be your objective to get to that point as quickly as possible. When you reach the first destination, you will receive your next objective and so on. After approximately twenty different destinations, you will be directed back to the start point. Your grade will be based on how long it takes you to complete the course. An average time is about two hours. Each of you will have a different route and set of destinations, but the difficulties should be similar and any differences will be taken into consideration to adjust your final time. Cadets will be entering the ship from eighteen other locations, so you will be meeting a lot of other people on board. Are there any questions?"

"Lieutenant, if we get lost, you will send someone to rescue us, won't you?" asked Alby.

Lieutenant Ewashen glared at Alby. "For anyone but you, Mr. Hinsworth, I would imagine so. However, I would suggest that _you_ don't get lost or you might never be seen again. But taking that into consideration, I think it might be best if you led off. Take your position at the lock."

"Yes, ma'am," said Alby. _Some people just have no sense of humor._

Alby walked over to the open lock with his compad held ready. He looked over at Ewashen who was consulting her own compad.

"Ready...Go!"

Alby trotted into the ship, trying to look like he was in a hurry. He glanced at his compad and saw that his first objective was the forward chase missile battery. It was a fairly easy thing to start off with. Alby turned forward at the first intersection. He kept trotting until he reached a gangway down. Then he slowed his pace and walked down to the next deck. He briefly consulted the ship's layout and then headed aft until he came to the Officers' Wardroom. The door slid open when he pushed the entry button. He closed it behind him and then flopped down on a well-worn sofa.

"Gosh, this is grueling," he said to the deckhead. After a minute, he propped himself up with a couple of dusty pillows and looked at his compad. The _Bancroft_ did not have an internal sensor net like a modern warship-or the Hinsworth estate-so there was no way for anyone to track his actual movements. There were, however, hundreds of transponders located throughout the ship. When Alby reached the specified location in the forward missile battery the proximity of his compad to the transponder would make a record that he had been there and key his compad to show the next destination. It was a nice, simple system that would allow the instructors to sweat the cadets to their hearts' content.

But Alby did not like to sweat.

He had been through the _Bancroft_ on several occasions and had come out sweaty, dusty and with bruised shins and scuffed knees.

It did not take him long to find the flaw in the system. This time, he came prepared. All the transponders were linked to a single computer in one of the buildings attached to the ship. It was an old computer. An old computer that Alby had now broken into with his much more powerful compad. Alby clicked a few commands and then typed:

Execute: Rat Race

The ship schematic returned to his screen and after a few moments, the destination icon in the forward missile battery blinked off and a new one appeared in the after impeller room. A small note on the screen informed him that estimated travel time to the next destination was four point five minutes.

"Run, you poor devil, run," chuckled Alby. He watched for a while to confirm that 'he' was getting from destination to destination in a timely fashion and then he set the compad aside and closed his eyes. There was no transponder in the Officers' Wardroom, so he knew he would not be disturbed. He had a lot of thinking to do.

A month had passed since Alby returned from leave and he had been trying to figure out a lot of things during that time. He had spent three days at the Grayson Embassy after that first night. His parents had traced him there within hours, but had only commed to confirm that he was actually there and then left him alone. Alby had a wonderful time and he found himself spending quite a bit of it with Abigail. After the third day, his mother had commed him and let him know that his grandfather had returned to Landing and his father would be out for several days and would he please come home? Alby did go home, but he took Patric and Helen and Anny with him. He wished Abigail could have come along, but apparently that would not have been proper.

The foursome had nearly as good a time at the Hinsworth Estate as they had at the Embassy. Patric was clearly awed by the wealth of Alby's family and even Anny was impressed. Alby's mother was happier than Alby had seen her for a long time and she made his guests very welcome. They _did _laugh when they saw the portrait of him. Two days later, Patric left for a quick trip to visit his family on Gryphon and to Alby's amazement, Anny went with him. The next day Helen left to visit some relatives of her own. The rest of his leave was not as much fun, but it still was not bad. His grandfather did not come back and Alby and his father were civil enough to each other when he arrived.

Even before he returned to the Academy Alby was becoming troubled again. But it was not the Navy or even his grandfather that was troubling him this time. He was troubled by Abigail and her words to him that first night. He thought of her frequently and he realized that he was very attracted to her-and she to him. He dreamed of her in his free moments, but her words kept coming back to him and ruining the fantasy: _You are fighting your destiny._

Again and again he heard those words: _I think it is your destiny to be a naval officer._ Was she right? He certainly could see no way out. _If you fight it too hard it will only make you unhappy._ She was right about that part at least. What should he do?

As Alby lay on the sofa in the Officers Wardroom he was still wrestling with the problem. The silence was broken briefly by the faint pounding of feet in the passageway outside, but then the silence returned.

Alby liked to think of himself as a realist. Whining and wishful thinking were of no use. Accept the reality of things and make the best of it. It was a nice philosophy except Alby realized exactly what reality he would have to accept.

_Can I do that? What other choice do I have?_

There was no other choice and Alby now realized that there never had been. From the instant Uncle Harry's atoms had been scattered across space, Alby's destiny was fixed.

_All right. They've got me. And I'm stuck with them. But if they want Alby Hinsworth, they are going to have to take him as is! All of him!_

Alby sat up and there was a strange half-grin on his face. He had accepted the reality and he felt better than he had in a long time. He would be an officer. He would even be a good officer, because he knew it was _not _a game and if he screwed up it would cost more lives than just his own. But he was not going to turn into that little tin cadet everyone wanted him to be!

_A Hinsworth in the Navy! Let the Universe beware! _

_ Starting with a couple of stuck up bastards from the Peerage!_

Alby's grin grew broader as he thought about his latest victims. Not just some random computer malfunction that affected everyone equally. This time he was going after someone who really deserved it.

Sandra Bennett and Archie Lansdorff.

Alby had never liked them. Right from the start he had them pegged as trouble. They were perfect examples of the arrogant jerks that gave the aristocracy such a bad name. Alby was content just to ignore and avoid them-but then they started hurting his friends.

Alby still felt guilty about that time in the shower room when Bennett and some pals had cornered Anny. They had obviously deduced from Anny's behavior that she had problems with public nudity and they decided to take advantage of it. Alby _had_ gone and gotten Sergeant Lakner, but he felt like he should have done more. He also felt guilty about staring at Anny with all the rest of them. _But Gosh, she's pretty, I wonder if Abigail takes after her?-stop that! _Anny had begged him afterward not to say anything to Patric about the incident-Patric would have gone berserk. Alby did as she asked, but he still felt uncomfortable at the memory of it.

And then there was the day that Anny almost resigned. Lansdorff had screwed up and Anny had to take the blame. Alby did not think it had been deliberate-Lansdorff was not that crazy, or that brave-but it was still Lansdorff's doing. And then when Bennett accosted Anny in the mess hall, Helen and Patric were ready to fight them. _And I just sat there like an idiot! Not willing to stick my neck out, as usual._ He felt angry at himself, but really angry with Bennett and Lansdorff.

Yes, Alby had a score to settle with those two, and he intended to collect-with interest.

Alby checked his compad and saw that his doppelganger was over halfway through the course. He had set things up to monitor the performance of the other cadets and adjust 'his' speed to be about average. He did not want to do anything to draw attention to himself. Fortunately, since every cadet had a different route, no individual would think it strange that they had not seen Alby on the course. If they all compared notes and realized that no one had seen him, they might take notice, but there was no reason for them to do that. Alby knew he was cheating, and the fact that he actually felt a little guilty over it showed he was starting to feel like an officer already.

_It's a matter of military priority,_ he told himself, _this is just a holding action, so I can make my real strike somewhere else-just like Captain Delbruck showed us!_

Alby called up another screen on his compad. He had his strike almost ready to implement, but there were a few more details to work out...

Thirty minutes later he switched back to see how he was making out on the course through the ship. He still had work to do on his master plan, but that could wait for tonight. He really hoped Jon Arlov would come through with his piece of it. He could pull it off without him, but it would not be nearly as good.

His compad beeped at him and he saw that he was being directed to go back to the start point. He was supposed to be in Fusion Room Two, and it should take him about five minutes to make the journey back to entry Four-B. Alby got off the sofa and rolled around on the floor a little to get some more dust on his uniform. He then got up and went to the door. He listened, but there was no sound outside. He quickly opened the door, went through and closed it again. He then started running aft at a pretty good pace. He ran up and down a few gangways, encountering a number of other cadets as he did so, and then headed for the exit. By the time he got there, he was convincingly sweaty and out of breath.

"Hinsworth, one hour fifty-two minutes," said Lieutenant Ewashen as Alby trotted through the lock. "Not too bad, Cadet, I see you did not get lost after all."

"No, ma'am, I knew right where I was the whole time," grinned Alby.

**Chapter Eighteen**

"**T**his is going to be great," said Alby to Jon Arlov as they approached Lewis Hall. It was one of the older buildings on campus and its architectural style was similar to the main house on the Hinsworth estate. A fair number of cadets were walking up the wide marble steps toward the large entry doors.

"I hope so, Alby," said Arlov. "But they are going to be mad as hell and you can bet they'll know who did it."

"You worry too much," said Alby.

"I have to; I don't have a duke and a space lord to bail me out if I get into trouble."

Alby looked sharply at his friend, a little hurt by his words. "Relax, Jon, I'll take the rap if it comes to that."

The pair followed the other cadets down the hall into a large auditorium. The seats circled a big HoloDisplay in the center of the sunken floor. Alby and Jon went halfway down the rows and then found seats. The auditorium could hold about a thousand and it looked like it would be standing room only before long.

They were there to observe one of the highlights of the Academy year: The Saganami Simulator Competition. The Academy participated in a number of competitive sports like rugby and soccer with universities around Manticore. In the past they had also had rowing and sailing and null-G lacross and polo. But the Simulator Competition was always the main event, and naturally it was limited to the Academy itself.

Every cadet spent a lot of time in the simulators, but some cadets were better at it than others. The very best were formed into teams that would compete against computer opponents and then ultimately against each other. The finale of the competition was a series of squadron and fleet exercised with the teams working in groups. This year's competition was not going to be as exciting as a lot of past years, because everyone knew who the winner was going to be before it started. Helen Zilwicki's team was a shoo-in for top honors. With her in the command chair and Anny Payne at helm, along with seven other very good people Helen had trained, there was no one who had a chance against them. Helen really was a marvel. Alby was a bit sorry that he had not worked harder and gotten into the competition. He was pretty darn good at the sensor station when he tried and he could have been on Helen's team. No point in worrying about that now, though.

With the first place prize already as good as taken, there was going to be a hard fight for second place. There were over a hundred teams in the competition and for the next week there would be sims running almost continuously. Those who were not competing were expected to observe. The auditorium in Lewis Hall was one of a dozen places around the island that would be displaying the competition. Alby wanted to see Helen's team in action, but he was also there for another reason.

Sandra Bennett and Archie Lansdorff were on one of the other top teams in the competition. They would be doing a sim against the computer in just a little while.

Alby was very eager to see that.

The simulations against computer opponents were the first stage. The scores each team received would be carried over and added to their scores when working against each other. There were six different computer problems and each team would go through all of them. New problems were created each year and none of the teams would know what they were up against until all the teams had finished with all six problems.

But this year, there was a seventh computer problem, and only two people in the whole Navy knew about it.

Alby watched as another team finished up their run. It had been a pretty standard problem with a heavy cruiser against a similar opponent. The first problems were usually easy ones to let the teams get over their jitters. The later ones got harder and harder and usually one of the six was nearly impossible. Alby double-checked the schedule that had been posted. _Not much longer now!_

The previous sim came to an end and the HD went blank for a moment. Then it showed a message in large letters:

Round One

Team Twenty-Six

Commander: Sandra Bennett

Tactical Officer: Archibald Lansdorff

Helm:...

Alby tensed. If everything was working properly, the instant Bennett's name appeared an unnoticed bit of software deep in the computer controlling the simulation should have gone into action. The scheduled simulation should now have been replaced with another that was not on anyone else's schedule. Alby felt a little sorry for the other seven members of the team that were listed. He had no particular grudge against them, but on the other hand, if they were pals of Sandra Bennett, it did not speak too well of them.

"Here we go," whispered Jon Arlov.

The HD came to life and there suddenly appeared on the floor of the auditorium the bridge of a warship. As far as the eye could tell, the people and equipment were really there, when, in fact, they were in one of the simulators in another building somewhere on campus. Sitting in the command chair was Sandra Bennett. That in itself made Alby smirk. Bennett was not bad in the sims, but Lansdorff was far better. He probably should have been in command, but Bennett had claimed the post of honor for herself. Alby snorted. That would have been like expecting Helen to give way to him if he was on her team just because of his exalted birth.

A message appeared above the display telling the audience that the team was commanding a _Reliant_ class battlecruiser and gave information about its course and speed and other relevant data. Alby leaned forward and looked closely for one particular statistic...Yes! There it was! The ship's speed was listed as four hundred and ninety-two _point three_ kilometers per second. If the original software was still in effect it should have been point two. Alby nudged Jon Arlov's arm and whispered:

"We've done it, old son! In a few minutes the fun begins!"

"Captain, message from flag," reported Bennett's communications officer. "We are to proceed on course Three-Two-Eight, mark Seventeen. Sensor network reports possible intruder."

"Very well. Helm, lay in that course. Takes us ahead at five hundred gravities," said Bennett coolly.

_Let's see how long she stays cool!_ thought Alby.

For a few minutes everything was routine. Bennett's crew watched their sensors and kept alert, they knew _something_ would be happening soon.

"Contact!" exclaimed the sensor officer. Alby could see a green icon appear on the tactical display to the left of the ship's course. He smiled; normally hostiles were displayed in red.

"An impeller source?" asked Bennett. Her tone was a little sharp, the sensor officer should have told her that without her asking.

"Uh, I'm not sure Ma'am, it's not showing on my gravitic sensors," said the girl. She was obviously confused and scanning her instruments for more information.

"If it's not on gravitics, how are we detecting it?"

"I...don't know, Ma'am, but it's bearing Oh-One-Five, mark Twenty-two, range thirty-one light seconds."

"All right," said Bennett warily, "Helm, come left and plot an intercept course."

"Aye, aye, Captain, turning to port," replied the helmsman.

"Contact lost!" said the sensor officer in surprise. The green icon was no longer on the display.

"It dropped off gravitics?" asked Bennett.

"It wasn't _on_ gravitics, Ma'am."

Bennett was frowning. Alby wished he could see a close-up of her face.

"All right, that may have been some sort of decoy, said Bennett. "Helm, bring us back to our original course. Stay sharp everyone."

Before the ship had even started to turn back, the cadet on the sensors called out again: "New contact! Bearing Two-Eight-Three, mark Oh-Eight, range twenty-eight light seconds! Same reading as before, nothing on gravitics, but I am picking up faint energy readings." The girl turned to Bennett with a 'Did I do good?' look on her face. Another green icon had appeared, well off to the ship's right.

"Very well," said Bennett slowly, "We'll play the game for a while. Helm, bring us around and plot an intercept course."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

The bridge crew was getting nervous. Alby was a little nervous, too. Only a couple of people knew the real script for all the computer simulation problems. While they would be monitoring some of activities during the competition, they could not possibly observe all of them. Alby was betting that no one in the know was watching now. If they were, they would see that this was not the proper program-the plug might get pulled at any moment.

A minute or two passed and then the Sensor Officer announced again: "Contact lost! Same as before, Ma'am, it's just not there anymore."

"Something is odd," said Bennett. "Run an instrument check, they may have thrown a malfunction at us here."

"Instruments all show green on my-_new contact_!"

Another green icon had appeared. Alby leaned back and exchanged grins with Jon Arlov.

Ten minutes later, Sandra Bennett and her crew were chasing the eighth green icon that had appeared on their tactical display. The cadets were all getting frustrated.

"They're really _hopping_ around, aren't they?" whispered Alby to Jon. Some of the other cadets in the audience were starting to talk among themselves as well.

"All right," said Bennett, as another icon appeared, "this is getting ridiculous. Launch a recon drone towards the target. Full active sensors. Keep it headed for that location even if the target disappears."

"Aye, aye, ma'am. Drone launched."

A new icon appeared on the display. It quickly left the ship behind and sped towards the mysterious green blip on the screen. A minute passed.

"Are you getting anything?" asked Bennett.

"No ma'am, nothing at all except those faint energy readings...wait a minute..."

On the tactical display, a thin pink line stretched out from the green icon. In only a few seconds it reached the icon of the drone. An instant later the line retracted and the drone was gone. A strange slurping sound came over the communicator. The bridge crew looked on in stunned silence.

"What the hell was that?!" exclaimed Sandra Bennett after a moment.

"I... I don't know, ma'am," said the sensor officer. "The drone is not registering anymore!"

"Tactical! What did that?" demanded Bennett of Archie Lansdorff.

"Ur...some sort of point defense system, Captain?" suggested Lansdorff.

"At eight light seconds? How is that possible?"

"I don't know, Captain," said Lansdorff.

"I'm tired of hearing that! I need some answers people!" shouted Bennett, obviously annoyed.

"Uh, Captain, the target is within our missile range now," said Lansdorff.

Bennett considered that for a moment. The green icon was not doing anything, but it had not disappeared like the others.

"All right, Guns, give it a salvo from the bow tubes."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," replied Lansdorff with a grin. "Let's see how they handle this!" He worked at his control board for a few moments and then four new icons appeared on the display. "Birds away!"

"Oh, bad move, Archie," whispered Alby to Jon Arlov. "If you shoot it, you'll only make it mad!"

The missiles moved steadily across the display, gaining speed with every moment. They neared the spot where the drone had disappeared. Then, in rapid sequence, four pink lines reached out, one after the other, and the missiles were gone. The strange noise came over the communicator again.

"Tactical! How is it doing that?!" shouted Bennett.

"I don't know, Sandra!" Lansdorff shouted back. "I've never seen any..."

"Incoming fire!" interrupted the sensor officer. "Twenty-four missiles inbound!"

A swarm of green specks had detached from the main green icon and were speeding towards Bennett's ship.

"Hard-a-port!" commanded Sandra Bennett. "Helm, keep our broadside to them, standby for evasive action. Tactical, countermissiles at your discretion, standby on point defense."

Alby had to admit that Bennett had responded well to the sudden threat-for all the good it would do her!

"Sensors! What do we have coming at us?"

"Uh, I'm not sure, ma'am," said the frazzled cadet. "Still no grav readings. Inbound are closing at One-Five-Two Thousand KPS and accelerating!"

"What!?" shouted Bennett, looking up at the display. "How?"

The missiles were closing at over half the speed of light. While such speeds were certainly possible, it would have taken quite a while to build up a vector like that and how could they still be accelerating with no impeller signature?

"Countermissiles going out," reported Lansdorff, "but it's not a good firing solution, Sandra, we're going to have a lot of leakers."

"Deploy decoys!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am."

The tactical display showed the incoming missiles closing rapidly on the ship. Countermissiles were going out to meet them, but the two swarms of dots passed through each other with no noticeable effect.

"Countermissiles are ineffective, ma'am," said Lansdorff. "With no grav signature to home on, these things are almost impossible targets. Point defense isn't going to have much of a shot either."

"Helm! Evasive action, now!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" replied the helmsman. There was no noticeable effect to the bridge being displayed in the HD, but the 'ship' was now gyrating wildly to throw off the enemy missiles.

The tactical display zoomed in on the ship's icon. The green dots came swooping in at a speed that seemed incredible at this scale. Point defense was firing, but again with no effect. Conventional missiles would have detonated at this point, but these missiles came right on in.

The bridge suddenly shook with the impact of the hostile missiles. The cadets were shaken and tossed against the shock frames of their chairs. There was a distinct 'splatting' sound and large green splotches appeared on the tactical display.

"Damage Control! Report status!" shouted Sandra Bennett.

The Damage Control officer looked at his board. "No damage, ma'am," he said in a bewildered tone.

"What?!"

"N-no damage reported on my board, ma'am," repeated the cadet.

"Well then what's that?" demanded Bennett, pointing to the tactical display. The green splotches were slowly dripping down the screen.

"Nice job, Jon," whispered Alby to the cadet sitting beside him. Jon Arlov had done most of the graphics programming for the bogus simulation. Alby's job had been to get the basic sim ready and then do the hard part: get it into the system. Alby had almost been stymied in that task. With the level of competitive spirit that this contest generated, the planners were extremely careful about the software they used. The computer scenarios that were created were kept very well guarded and the only information given out beforehand was the type of ship and basic course and speed data so the cadets would not go in to it completely cold. Alby quickly realized that he would never be able to get to the scenario software and alter it. Fortunately, he also realized that he did not have to. Instead of altering one of the official scenarios, he just had to make up his own and then get the administrative software for the competition to substitute his for the official one-at the proper time. That had proved to be a lot easier. Creating the scenario was not hard either. Scenarios from earlier years were kept on file and anyone could access them. Alby just selected one that used the same type of ship as he wanted and then added his own special touches.

On the bridge of Sandra Bennett's ship, chaos reigned. Bennett was shouting and cursing at her crew to get her some answers. She was firing off missile salvoes at the mysterious green icon, but each salvo was being swallowed up as it approached the target. More enemy missiles were pelting her ship; she and her crew were being shaken back and forth and the green splotches on her screen were making it hard to read the tactical displays.

"Ma'am, I've run a comparison on the enemy missiles against known ordinance profiles and I've gotten a match," announced the sensor officer.

"What have you got?" snarled Bennett, clearly at her patience's end.

"Uh, I'm putting it on screen, ma'am." The cadet sounded dazed.

On the main display, superimposed on the dripping green splotches, was a technical read-out that could not be found in any other RMN database. A schematic drawing of a strange lumpy object was followed by the designation:

"Mk. XXI Frog"

"Frog? What the hell is a frog?" asked Bennett.

More data followed. It was all gibberish except for the place of manufacture:

"Earth"

"Solarian equipment?" said Bennett in amazement. "That might explain some of this! Some new type of stealth gear to mask out grav signatures! But what the hell kind of warheads are on these things?"

Some of the cadets in the audience in the Lewis Hall auditorium were starting to chuckle. They were beginning to catch on to what was happening, but Bennett and her crew were too keyed up to realize the obvious.

"Jon, the secret to successful humor is to know when to wrap things up," said Alby to his friend. "I think it's about time for the punch line."

"The enemy ship is moving towards us!" shouted the luckless sensor officer. The splotches on the tactical display had cleared up enough to show that the green icon, which had sat placidly through the whole engagement, was now moving towards them at an impossible speed.

"Target closing at...one point two Cee!?" sputtered the cadet.

The bridge crew gazed at the tactical display in astonishment. The green icon was not just moving towards the icon that represented their ship, it was growing! Alby could see that Sandra Bennett's mouth was hanging open. The green icon grew until it covered the whole tactical display. It was slowly changing shape, metamorphosing into something that resembled the earlier missile schematic: a strange lumpy shape with legs and two bulbous eyes.

And a mouth.

The mouth opened up and a huge pink tongue shot out directly at the frozen cadets. At this point the real-time display of Sandra Bennett and her bridge crew was seamlessly replaced by a masterpiece of computer graphics that Jon Arlov had created. The bridge and its crew seemed to be sucked into the green creature's mouth. Convincingly realistic screams came from the fake crew and the last thing that was heard was a voice that sounded like Sandra Bennett's screaming: "Abandon Ship!" For a few moments the creature-the only thing remaining on the HD display-sat there. Then the tongue came out again to lick the creature's 'lips'. One of the huge eyes winked at the gaping spectators. The creature gave a mammoth belch and then vanished. Replacing it on the display were the words:

Team Twenty-Six

Final Score:

Frog: 1

Bennett: 0

A few seconds of stunned silence filled the auditorium and then absolute bedlam broke out as the cadets howled with laughter.

"Oh, nice touch, Jon!" shouted Alby into his friend's ear.

"I thought you'd like that," replied Arlov.

If everything was working properly, Alby's software was erasing itself from the computer system and hopefully leaving no trace. At the same time, a copy of the HD record of this 'simulation' was being sent to every RMN ship and installation in the Manticore star system.

The cadets in the auditorium were on their feet applauding now, and more than a few faces were turned in Alby's direction. Alby kept a poker face but whispered to Arlov: "That's the only problem with this: no matter how appreciative the audience, you can't take a bow!"

**Chapter Nineteen**

"**S**ome people just can't take a joke," muttered Alby Hinsworth. He looked cautiously around the corner of the building. No one was in sight. Good. Alby came out from behind the bushes and walked quickly along the path.

He was a hunted man.

It had been two weeks since The Great Simulator Scam and the uproar had not died down. Alby realized now that when he conceived his idea, he was still not thinking like a naval officer. To Alby it had just been a great joke at the expense of some people that needed to be taken down a notch or two. He quickly found out that other people felt differently. _Nope, no sense of humor at all._

Captain Arthur Wagner of the Tactics Department had been furious. The Simulator Competition was his moment of glory each form and to have it sullied like this was just unacceptable. The competition had gone on to its conclusion, but no one was taking it too seriously anymore. Helen's team had won, as expected. Bennett's team had been allowed to start over from scratch, but they had been so rattled by their experience that they finished in the lower third. Performance in general was down because everyone seemed to be looking over their shoulders for nasty green icons.

Wagner had not been the only one upset among the faculty. The Computer Department was in turmoil over how their security could have been so badly compromised. Naturally Admiral Thayer had gotten involved, too. However, Alby's precautions had worked perfectly and there was no trace left of what he had done. Not one shred of evidence remained except the HD recording-and the eye witness accounts of about eight thousand cadets.

Alby fully expected to be hauled up before the Commandant and questioned. He dreaded that because he really did not want to lie to Admiral Thayer, but he certainly did not want to tell her the truth either! Alby found it rather ironic: now that he had decided to give in and become an officer, he had finally done something serious enough to possibly get him kicked out. To his surprise, he had not been summoned by the Commandant, even though he surely was the prime suspect. For a week Alby lived in anticipation of that summons-but it did not come.

Alby kept his ears open for rumors and scanned the official navy publications for news. He even quietly asked his mother if she had heard anything from his grandmother. From the things he started to hear, Alby slowly came to realize just how powerful a combination his parentage really was. The Academy had no hard evidence. Without it, there was no way they were going to accuse the grandson of a duke and the Second Space Lord.

Alby reached the end of the row of buildings and looked around the next corner. There were a few cadets walking along the path, but fortunately, not the ones he was worried about. If he could make it a bit farther he would make it to the shuttle bus.

When he realized that there would be no official repercussions, Alby should have breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, he could not because there were still plenty of _unofficial_ repercussions to deal with.

Nine of them to be exact.

Sandra Bennett and her team were kept busy in the simulators for another week after Alby's scam, but when they finished they were-as Jon Arlov predicted-mad as hell.

Alby knew they would be mad, but not _how_ mad. Once again, he had not been thinking like a naval officer. He had made them look foolish, but so what? Everyone looked foolish now and then. Granted, they had been made to look foolish in a rather spectacular way and it would hurt their pumped up egos more than most people, but still no real harm done, right?

Wrong. Too late, Alby realized that reputations were at stake. Sandra Bennett, Archie Lansdorff and their friends had been marked for life. No matter what they did from now on, no matter how successful their careers became, they would always be remembered for just one thing:

Getting 'frogged' at the Academy.

Even Alby could now see how that might tend to tick them off a little.

As a result, Alby was a hunted man. The nine 'frogged' cadets had vowed revenge and Alby had no doubt about the form that revenge would take. If the regulations had allowed it, Alby felt sure that all nine would have challenged him to a duel. Dueling was legal on Manticore but fortunately Alby had a legitimate excuse to avoid that route to the cemetery. Considering how poor a shot Alby was, eight of his challengers would have been dreadfully disappointed.

That still left Bennett and company with less official means of exacting vengeance: like beating him to a bloody pulp. They would do it too, they would risk the fact that Alby's grandparents were far more exalted than their own, to avenge their honor. Alby's only hope was to avoid them until they cooled down-if they ever did.

They could not just walk up and attack him in public, especially if there were any commissioned officers around. Nor could they get past his roommates in the dorm. Alby was safe while he was in class or in his room. It was getting from one to the other that left him vulnerable. Alby's roommates had been looking out for him and that had helped. Much to his surprise, he had become something of a hero to Second Battalion and a number of people he hardly knew were suddenly helping him out too. Unfortunately, a few Third Battalion people were helping out Bennett. Alby did not know who he could trust. The last week had been far more exciting than Alby would have ever wanted. They had almost caught him twice, but something had saved him each time.

Alby was sneaking behind another building with only a hundred meters to go to reach the shuttle stop when he heard voices. He froze and shrunk against the building: the voices sounded all too familiar.

But they were not talking to him.

"Where do you think you're going, Arlov?" said someone that sounded like Archie Lansdorff.

_They caught Jon! Oh no!_

Alby crept to the edge of the building and carefully peered around the corner. In a small courtyard between two of the buildings were a group of cadets. It was the 'Frogged Nine' all right. They were crowded around someone else that Alby could not see.

"What do you guys want?" said a scared voice. It was Jon Arlov.

"We want your buddy, that scum Hinsworth. But he's been hiding from us, so you will have to do instead," said Sandra Bennett.

An icicle went through Alby. Arlov was a commoner. Sandra and her chums could beat him to within an inch of his life and Jon would not even dare accuse them of anything. Alby looked around. He could just sneak off and not be seen. Maybe he could reach the Provost Office and bring back help...

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Arlov. He was clearly terrified-he knew what could happen to him too.

"Well, maybe this will remind you!" said Lansdorff. There was a thud and a groan. Then another. And another. Alby looked on in horror. The ring around Arlov opened up a little and Alby could see him. They had not really started in on him yet. They were just cuffing him around a little-just getting warmed up. Arlov was not much bigger than Alby-and there were nine of them.

"S-stop! Please! I haven't done anything!" pleaded Arlov between blows.

"The next time you see your pal, you can tell him that!" said Bennett. She stepped up and kneed Arlov in the belly.

_"Leave him alone!"_ shouted a voice.

The cadets all looked up in surprise. No one was more surprised than Alby Hinsworth-because it was his voice.

Alby walked into the courtyard towards the group of cadets. Their looks of surprise turned to evil smiles.

"If I'm the one you are looking for, here I am! Leave him alone!" Alby was more frightened than he had ever been in his life, but somehow his voice was steady and his legs kept him from falling.

"Well, well! The Master Prankster comes out of hiding!" said Sandra Bennett in delight. The circle of cadets opened up to face Alby. Jon Arlov was on his knees in front of them.

"I just wanted to pay my respects to the Frog Princess and her eight tadpoles," said Alby. _If I'm going to get the crap beaten out of me, I may as well get in a few licks!_

"You bastard!" snarled Lansdorff, slowly moving forward. He seemed to expect Alby to run and was surprised when he did not.

"Nope! 'Fraid I can't claim that honor. I've always kind of wondered about you though, Archie."

Lansdorff cursed and swung at Alby's head. Alby turned and hunched over. The blow caught him on his shoulder and sent him sprawling. _Ow, that hurt. Serves me right, I violated Rule Number One again. _ A strange sense of resignation came over Alby. He had always hated the thought of fighting. He had done well enough in the combat training because he knew he could not really get hurt. Now he knew he was really going to get hurt, but it did not really bother him much. It was like that day onboard the _Bancroft_. He had accepted his destiny and did not try to fight it.

The nine cadets reformed their ring around Alby. Two of them tossed Jon Arlov over next to him.

"Sorry to get you mixed up in this, Jon," said Alby. He had no real hope that they would let Jon go.

"Oh, that's okay, Alby, I guess it was worth it," gasped Arlov.

"Yeah, maybe it was, at that."

"You won't think so after we get through with you!" said Sandra Bennett. She walked up and kicked at Alby's face. He tried to turn away and most of the blow missed him, but it still mashed his lips against his teeth. Alby tasted blood. He tried to think of some good comeback, but he was a bit dazed.

"Stand them up!" said Bennett.

Rough hands seized the pair and they were hoisted to their feet. Sandra Bennett and Archie Lansdorff closed in on them with their fists poised to strike. But their twisted grins froze on their faces as a shadow fell across them. The hands holding Alby loosened and something grabbed the back of his tunic. Alby and Jon Arlov were lifted into the air with a squawk of alarm.

Alby suddenly found himself looking into the face of Patric McDermott. Patric had Alby in one huge hand and Jon Arlov in the other.

"Hi, Alby," said Patric, "I was looking for you. Hi Jon," he said turning his head to face Arlov.

The other cadets were startled but soon recovered. The nine faced them with angry expressions.

"Beat it, plowboy!" said Lansdorff. "This is no concern of yours!"

Patric gently set Alby and Arlov on their feet. "When you start beating up a friend of mine, I'll make it my concern," said Patric quietly.

"Get out of here, Cadet," said Sandra Bennett, warily eyeing the large man in front of her, "that's an order."

"Sorry, Cadet-Sergeant, I can't do that unless I take them with me," said Patric.

"All right, it's your funeral, you base-born idiot! Just the kind of odds I like: nine against three!"

"Four!" said Helen Zilwicki, stepping around the corner.

"Five!" said Andreanne Payne, following right behind her.

Now Sandra Bennett and her friends were taken back. The odds were not nearly so good and they all knew Helen's reputation in the martial arts. And, she was a cadet-officer. They gave back before her as she stepped in front of Alby and Patric.

"Arlov, get going, that's an order. We'll handle it from here," said Helen quietly.

Jon Arlov looked from face to face, unsure of what to do. Helen gestured to the exit from the courtyard with a jerk of her head. Arlov hesitated for a second and then did as he was told. By the time he reached the exit, he was running.

"That's it Hinsworth! Hiding behind your friends again!" snarled Bennett, furious that her prey was going to escape her. "And you, Zilwicki, hiding behind your rank-and that famous mother of yours!"

_Oh, oh, Sandra, I think you just made a big mistake..._ thought Alby.

Helen was silent for a moment. She stepped over to Alby and touched his face lightly. It stung and her hand came away with blood on it. She took a few steps towards Bennett.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about my rank, Sandra," said Helen very quietly, with a tiny smile, "_You can always claim it was self defense!"_

Helen was suddenly flying through the air and her foot slammed solidly into Sandra Bennett's stomach.

Bennett was thrown into two of her friends and they all went down in a heap. Helen spun around, and before anyone could react, did the same thing to Archie Lansdorff.

"Still haven't learned to keep a safe distance, have you, Archie?" said Helen.

Then she tore into the rest of them-and Patric, Anny and Alby were right behind.

Alby had no clear memory of how the rest of the fight went. He flailed away with fists and feet and he thought that most of his blows hit the right people, although at one point Patric did warn him to be careful. Helen and Patric did most of the fighting, but it was still not easy. Helen could probably have killed or crippled all of them in a few moments, but she was handicapped because she did not really want to kill or cripple anyone.

Alby dished it out, but he took a pretty good pounding, too. He was not sure how Anny made out, but at one point he saw her standing over Sandra Bennett. Bennett was sitting on the ground and shrieking in horror as blood poured out of her obviously broken nose. Anny looked at Alby with an expression of absolute delight.

"Sergeant Lakner was right: it's _not_ blue!"

Then someone plowed into Alby and he ended up on the ground. He was being punched and kicked and he tried to fight back as best he could. Suddenly the attack stopped and he saw Patric towering over him with a cadet in each hand. He clonked their heads together and dropped them.

It seemed to go on for hours, but it could not really have lasted very long. Helen probably took down most of them. Patric was not a particularly skilled fighter, but anytime one of those huge fists connected with a person, that person went down and often did not get back up.

Finally, Anny pulled Alby to his feet and he saw that all of their opponents were on the ground, groaning and clutching themselves and not fighting back anymore. Helen and Patric were standing in the midst of them, battered and bloodied, but with smiles of triumph on their faces.

Just then, a squad of Marines came around the corner with stun guns ready. Jon Arlov was with them. His look of worry turned to joy when he saw the situation. As luck would have it, Sergeant Donna Lakner was leading the detachment.

"Mr. Hinsworth, you are going to give me gray hair!" she said in exasperation.

Alby tried to grin, but his mouth hurt too much. He saw the smile leave Helen's face as she looked around. She walked over to Lakner.

"Sergeant, we are placing ourselves under arrest and putting ourselves in your custody."

Suddenly, Alby did not feel like grinning at all.

**Chapter Twenty**

**A**lby Hinsworth was waiting to see the Commandant-again. This time, however, he was not alone. A dozen other cadets sat in the room with him, waiting to be summoned. Helen, Patric and Anny sat next to him and across the room were Sandra Bennett and her gang, glaring at him. Two marines were also there, their holstered stun guns and stern expressions ensured that there would be no trouble. Despite all the nasty looks, Alby did not think there was likely to be any more trouble. Neither group looked battleworthy at this point.

It was three days since the fight. They had spent the first night in the brig. Alby had not been aware that the Academy even had a brig, and from the look of the dust and the amount of time it took the marines to find the codes for the cell doors, it had not been used in quite a while. They put Alby and his friends in one cell and Sandra's gang in another. Actually, they had put five of them in another cell. The other four, including Bennett and Lansdorff had spent the night in the infirmary. Alby was very glad that Jon Arlov had not been brigged as well.

A pair of medics had come to the brig to treat their injuries. The Quick Heal was doing its usual efficient job, but the damage caused by the fight was still evident on every face. _Well, Patric's face is hardly scratched, another advantage of being tall, _thought Alby, but he knew that Patric's torso was a mass of bruises. Helen had a few bruises on her face but had gotten off the lightest despite doing most of the fighting. Anny had an amazing shiner on one eye and other assorted cuts and bruises. Alby's mouth was still pretty swollen and he only had a few spots that did not ache to some degree.

The damage to the opposition had been a bit more severe. Sandra Bennett had a bandage over her newly repaired nose and two eyes that were even blacker than Anny's. Archie Lansdorff's puffy mouth was missing a tooth and he had two cracked ribs. The rest of them had a large collection of cuts, scrapes and bruises along with more cracked ribs and several broken fingers.

After the first night in the brig, they had all been confined to quarters. This was a close confinement, which meant they could not even leave to attend class. Alby gathered that there had not been a fight like this at the Academy in ages.

For two days they had been left to stew. They could study and even sit in on classes via their computers, but they were all nervous and distracted. Helen tried to put on a brave front, but Alby could tell even she was nervous. Fighting was a serious infraction of the Academy rules. Alby did some research, and learned that in the past, cadets had even been kicked out if it was bad enough.

Alby exchanged a number of messages with his mother and she kept him informed. The parents of Sandra's gang raised a big stink over the incident, but Alby's grandparents rallied to Alby's defense. It was odd: only a few months ago Alby would have welcomed this situation and would have wanted his grandparents to throw him to the wolves. But not now. Something had changed inside him.

After the second day, Alby was pretty sure that the worst of the situation had been defused-at least for him. Then, he started worrying about his roommates. They were not from noble families. His grandfather's words about them haunted him. Would he sacrifice Alby's friends to appease the ones who wanted his head?

If his friends were seriously punished-or even kicked out-because of him, Alby would never forgive himself. They had come to his rescue, and now they might have to pay a terrible price. Alby looked fondly at the three young people sitting next to him. He had liked them from the start, but he refused to make an emotional commitment to them. He had worked with them, helped them, gotten help from them, and had fun with them. But he had never made that commitment to them. To do so would have been to make a commitment to the Navy-something Alby desperately did not want to do.

But they had made that commitment to him. They had stood by him, fought next to him, and they would willingly pay whatever price that commitment might cost them. _What have I done to earn that sort of loyalty? What can I do to repay them?_

The door opened and an officer stepped in. "Cadets Zilwicki, Payne, McDermott and Hinsworth, please come with me," he said.

They followed the officer down a corridor and into another room. Usually Alby had met with Admiral Thayer in her office, but not this time. The room was set up with a single long table at one end. Admiral Thayer, her adjutant, Commander Semancik and the Provost, Lt. Commander Ferraro, sat behind it. The cadets were instructed to stand facing the table. They did so and saluted. Alby felt more nervous than before-this looked like some sort of court martial!

Thayer returned their salutes and let them stand at ease. She sat frowning at them for several moments.

"Cadets," she began, "this is an Academy disciplinary tribunal. Its purpose is to evaluate the seriousness of your offenses and pronounce punishment. You will not be provided with council and any sentence may not be appealed."

Alby swallowed. _Oh God! I'm in Thayer's hands!_ He started to regret all the trouble he had caused for her in the past. Still, Helen was her goddaughter-Helen had never mentioned that, but Alby knew it was true. That gave him hope that his friends might be spared.

"If you find the stated conditions unacceptable," said Thayer, "you may demand a formal court martial. Counsel will be provided and all provisions of the Military Code will be adhered to."

There was something in the way Thayer said that last sentence that put a chill in Alby. He looked in her eyes and got the impression that it would not be a good idea to request the court martial!

"Will you accept the judgment of the tribunal?"

"Yes, Admiral," said Helen instantly. She glanced to either side at Alby and the others and made a tiny motion with her head.

"Yes, Admiral," said Alby almost simultaneously with Patric and Anny. _I'm glad somebody knows the regulations!_

Thayer took a deep breath and seemed to relax a tiny bit.

"Very well, we can begin," said Thayer. "From testimony given by yourselves, the other cadets involved and other witnesses, I believe we can summarize the incident as follows: The nine other accused cadets accosted Cadet Jon Arlov and were physically abusing him. Cadet Hinsworth attempted to intervene on Arlov's behalf and was abused in turn. Cadets Zilwicki, McDermott and Payne then arrived on the scene. At this point the abuse ceased and Cadet Arlov left the scene and proceeded to the Provost's Office to seek assistance."

Thayer paused and looked coldly at Helen. "Then, without further provocation, Cadet Zilwicki led the four of you in an attack on the other cadets, producing a general melee. Numerous injuries resulted from this before the marines arrived. In your opinions, is this an accurate account?"

"Yes, Admiral, I believe it is," said Helen. Alby and the others exchanged nervous glances and nodded their heads. Alby was taking his lead from Helen, but he did not agree at all! Helen was setting herself up to take most of the blame!

"The tribunal requires spoken responses, do you agree with this account?" asked Thayer.

"Yes, Admiral," said the trio, although Alby could see that Patric and Anny were no happier than he with where this seemed to be leading.

Admiral Thayer sighed. "From this account, it is evident that the incident was started by the other nine cadets, who, without any provocation attacked Cadet Arlov. This is despicable behavior, and I assure you that they will be punished when they are brought before this tribunal. However, I am extremely disturbed by your behavior, Cadet Zilwicki. After your arrival on the scene, the physical violence had ended. The other cadets have claimed, and your own testimony confirms, that they intended no further violence. Had you and your comrades simply withdrawn at this point, the incident would have ended and you could have brought charges against the others for their initial assault on Cadets Arlov and Hinsworth. Instead, you attacked them. This is unacceptable behavior in any cadet, but you hold the second highest rank in your regiment. You are supposed to set a standard for others to aspire to, Ms. Zilwicki. Do you have any explanation or defense for your behavior?"

Helen drew herself up. "Admiral, hostile forces had attacked and damaged two of my subordinates. I evaluated the tactical situation and decided that the best course of action would be an immediate counter-attack. My intention was to bring the hostile forces to battle in hopes of inflicting substantial damage on them. In this I was successful." Helen spoke as though she were evaluating a session in the simulators.

"Cadet Zilwicki," said Admiral Thayer, obviously startled, "this was not a space battle. You are speaking about fellow cadets."

"Nevertheless, Admiral, the hostiles had damaged my subordinates. To allow them to withdraw undamaged would have seriously harmed the morale of my command and encouraged future attacks by the hostile forces. I acted in what I believed to be the best interest of my command." Helen was staring straight ahead without the slightest emotion in her voice.

"Helen..." said Thayer and then she stopped. She rubbed her eyes with her hand and briefly glanced at the two officers flanking her. Alby could see that she was upset.

"Cadet Zilwicki, this is a serious situation. Surely you knew that you were committing a breach of the regulations when you undertook this action. You do realize that as the ranking cadet in this incident the responsibility-and the consequences-must fall most heavily on you?"

"Admiral, I included those factors in my estimation of the situation. I considered the likely consequences to be acceptable losses."

"Acceptable losses?" said Thayer and she sighed, shaking her head.

_Acceptable losses!? _thought Alby._ Maybe Helen can accept them, but I can't!_

"Admiral!"

Alby Hinsworth committed himself at last.

"Yes, Mr. Hinsworth?" said Thayer, seemingly startled by Alby's sudden outburst.

"A-Admiral, we all know what started this whole thing. It was me screwing around with Sandra Bennett's simulation! If I hadn't done that, none of this would have happened! If anyone should be punished, it should be me, not Helen!"

Thayer regarded him for a moment and her expression softened slightly.

"Cadet, I...appreciate your coming forward like this, and I can understand your feelings-believe me, I can. However, the purpose of this tribunal is to evaluate the specified incident. That, and that alone. Your statement, while commendable, is not relevant in this matter."

"But..."

"I said it is not relevant, Cadet. You will speak when spoken to."

Alby's mouth opened and shut several times, but he did not know what else he could say. Helen looked at him and shook her head ever so slightly and gave him a tiny smile.

"Cadet Zilwicki, do you have anything else to say?" asked Thayer.

"No, Admiral."

"Do any of you have anything else to say?"

Alby heard himself say: "No, Admiral," with Patric and Anny.

"Very well, the tribunal will pass judgment. The serious nature of the offense requires a substantial penalty. Each of you shall receive one hundred demerits. Each of you shall spend eighty hours on punishment rounds served in twenty, four-hour sessions. This incident shall go on your permanent records and you are warned that any future offenses of this nature could result in expulsion."

Thayer paused and took a deep breath.

"Cadet Zilwicki, due to the role you played in this incident, I am forced to recommend that your rank of Cadet Lieutenant Colonel be stripped, and you be demoted to Cadet Major. This will have to be reviewed and approved by the Faculty Council. Do the other members of the tribunal concur?"

The officers flanking Thayer nodded their heads and said: "Yes".

"Very well, let it be so recorded. Cadets, you are dismissed."

[Scene Break]

Alby Hinsworth marched forty paces due south. He halted and faced about. He marched forty paces due north, halted and faced about again.

He had done this many, many times before, but he had never had so much company. Twelve other cadets shared the courtyard with him. They were arranged in a line of seven and a line of six marching in opposite directions with four meters between each person. At the midpoint of each forty pace round, Alby found himself passing between Sandra Bennett and Archie Lansdorff. At the start of the session, those two had snarled at him on each pass and he had smirked back at them. Two hours later none of them had the energy for anything but a passing frown. Several marines kept a constant watch on the proceedings.

_Whew! Glad it's not so hot as the last time I had to do this!_

Summer had come to an end and it was the beginning of Fall. It was still warm, but not nearly as hot as it might have been. This was lucky since they would be marching for four hours instead of two.

Alby passed by Bennett again. She looked a little better than the previous day, but her injuries were still evident. _Anny really did a job on her nose._ It would probably take a little biosculpt to restore it to what it had been. Alby was sure Bennett would spend the money to be perfect again. Alby was also satisfied to note that Bennett's sergeant chevrons were missing. He did not know the details of the punishment Thayer had inflicted on Bennett's gang, but none of them had any cadet rank anymore, and that was fine with Alby.

"Squad, halt!" shouted one of the marines. "Ten minute break! Squad, fall out!"

The cadets looked around and then, by some unspoken agreement, split into two groups that headed for opposite ends of the courtyard. Alby joined Patric, Anny and Helen and they sat down in some shade by one of the buildings.

"Hoo!" said Patric. "That's hard work! How many times have you done this, Alby?"

"Too many times," said Alby. He looked at his friends' faces and the sweat running down them. "I'm sorry I got you into this, guys," he said quietly.

"Don't worry about it," said all three of the others in unison. They grinned at each other. "Great minds think alike," said Helen.

"But I am worrying about it," said Alby, looking down at the ground. "I've been nothing but trouble for you guys since the beginning. If I had not been so selfish and irresponsible, none of this would have happened. After all you've done for me, this is a fine way to repay you."

The others looked uncomfortable for a moment.

"Alby?" said Anny. He looked up at her. "Why did you pick Bennett and Lansdorff as the target for your gag?"

"Well, because they are a couple of stuck-up jerks, I guess."

"There are plenty of other people on this island that fit that description. Are you sure there was not some other reason?"

He blushed. "You know why: because of the things they did to you, Anny," said Alby in a near-whisper.

Anny leaned over and kissed Alby on the cheek. "Yes, I do know, Alby. That was very sweet-and thank you. It was a very good gag, too."

Alby looked at Anny. His eyes were glistening, but he had a smile on his face. He was very grateful for Anny's words. "Thank you, Anny," he said.

"I've got something else that might make you feel better, too," said Anny with a grin.

"What's that?" asked Alby.

"I did not have a chance to tell you this morning, but I got a letter from my sister. My father has given her permission to write to you. If it is all right with you, she would like to."

"Of course it's all right with me!" said Alby with a big smile. "That would be great!"

"I thought you would say that, so I already wrote her back and told her it was all right," said Anny. "If I know her, you probably have six letters waiting for you already."

Alby leaned back against the building. He felt incredibly good in spite of his tired feet and sore shoulder. _Abigail wants to write to me!_

The four cadets sat in silence for a minute. Alby was daydreaming about Abigail when he found himself looking at the collar of Helen's uniform. The insignia of a major was there instead of the lieutenant colonel's insignia she had formerly worn. His good mood faded. He felt really bad about that. She had worked so hard for it. Almost as bad was the fact that Captain Wagner had insisted that she give up the award for winning the simulator competition because of her association with Alby. Even though they had never actually accused Alby of perpetrating the scam, Wagner felt that the award was tainted.

"Helen, I'm really sorry I cost you your rank and all," said Alby.

"Acceptable losses, Cadet," said Helen simply, but she smiled.

"I wish there was something I could do to repay you for what I cost you, Helen. If there is anything I can ever do for you, and I mean anything, you only have to ask." It was not an idle gesture and they both knew it. The wealth and influence of Alby's family could have an enormous effect on a person's career. Helen considered that for a moment.

"Alby, do you really want to do something for me?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," said Alby eagerly. "What is it?"

"Shape up and act like a cadet," said Helen. Alby did a double take but Helen just sat there smiling.

"Alby, you are a nice person, and a lot of fun to be around, but you are the worst excuse for a naval cadet I've ever seen. I hate to have to say it, but you are a weak spot in my battalion. The best thing you could do for me is to shape up."

Alby looked down at the ground, blushing fiercely. After a moment he looked up at Helen.

"I guess I've really let you down, haven't I?" he said. Helen said nothing. "I know I have, I've let all of you down." Alby looked from face to face. These were his friends. Friends who had risked everything for him.

"But I'm not going to let you down again."

Patric and Anny just smiled at him. Helen nodded.

"That's good enough for me, Cadet," she said.

"And you want to know something else about all this?" she asked. Alby stared at her and quirked an eyebrow.

Helen looked over at the other group of cadets and she had a strange smile on her face. She tapped one fist in the palm of her other hand.

"It was worth it!"

They were all still laughing when the marines called them back into ranks.

**End of Book Three**


	6. Book Four

**Tales from the Academy**

Book Four

**Fourth Form**

**Third Interlude**

**R**ear Admiral Sylvia Thayer closed down her terminal and reached for the cane propped against her desk. She took it in her hands and looked at it fondly. It was a beautifully made thing. A golden manticore was the head and there was a gold tip on the other end. The rich, dark wood was intricately carved with the images of starships, planets and other naval motifs. Each of the eight starships had a name engraved next to it. She brushed her fingers over the image labeled "Redoubtable". Halfway down the staff was a gold plate. On it were engraved the words:

_To Rear Admiral Sylvia Thayer,_

_ In Admiration and Fond Remembrance,_

_From the Ninth Battlecruiser Squadron._

"_Thayer's Slayers"_

The cane had been delivered unexpectedly about five months ago. The timing had been almost as touching as the gift itself. It arrived two days before Thayer was due to have her regeneration cast removed-clearly someone had been keeping close tabs on her progress. She had no doubt the metal pieces were real gold-some of the Ninth's officers were very well to do-but that is not why she considered the cane her most prized possession. The Ninth had gone on to fresh glory under William "Hutch" Hutchinson, but they still called themselves "Thayer's Slayers".

There were days when she wished she had a less bloodthirsty nickname-and there were nights when she wished she had not earned that nickname so well. Still, there were certainly worse things to be called by your people and Thayer felt very proud that she had left her mark on the Ninth.

Thayer turned her chair away from the desk and took the cane in her hand. With a slight groan she rose to her feet, leaning heavily on the cane. She had two legs again after three years, but the newly regenerated one still needed a lot of therapy. The doctors said it "needed to be fully integrated into the main physiology of her body" and "the neural and musculature systems had not completely adapted". Which in plain English meant it hurt like hell to walk on it.

Also, it itched.

Thayer slowly walked around her desk and out the door of her office. In the corridor she was met by Commander Semancik. _He always seems to know when I'm coming. Does Gwen have a secret signal she sends him?_

"Good morning, Admiral," he said brightly. "How's the leg today, ma'am?"

"No worse than usual, Chris. I suppose it improves a bit each day."

"You'll be trying out for the soccer team before you know it, ma'am."

"I doubt that." snorted Thayer. "I always hated sports. Have all our budding _myrmidons_ arrived?"

"Yes, ma'am, they are all in the conference room, waiting," replied Semancik.

"Good," said Thayer. They reached the conference room and entered. Twenty-four cadets were inside and they all sprang to their feet as she walked in. Thayer hobbled to the head of the table and stood there, looking over the young men and women she was about to send off to the Fleet. These were the company and battalion officers of the Second Battalion of the Regiment of Fourth Form Cadets. In a few days they would begin their 'prentice cruise. Due to the large size of the class, they were being rotated to the Fleet by battalion. First Battalion was already out there and would return shortly. Now it was Second Battalion's turn. Thayer's eyes drifted around the table and paused for a moment on the battalion commander, but Cadet-Major Helen Zilwicki gave no sign that she was aware of Thayer's special interest in her.

_Still the Battle Steel Cadet,_ thought Thayer. _So damn perfect she would have been the regimental commander if she had any noble blood in her. Well, not quite perfect, perhaps. If it had not been for that fight last form, she'd still be a lieutenant colonel._

It irked Thayer that others has been given more prestigious ranks, despite inferior performance, due to their parents' titles, but she knew that was the way the Navy worked and there was no use complaining about it. Thayer slowly sat down and put aside her cane.

"Please be seated," she said, and the cadets all sat stiffly on the edges of their chairs.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," she began, "You are still eight months away from graduation, but your real final exams begin in a few days. You still have some important classwork to do this form, but you all know that what you will face on your 'prentice cruise is the real test of what you have learned here. You have all been on previous cruises, first on the training ships and then on active duty ships in the rear areas. This time you will be assigned to ships going into combat zones. I know all of you are eager to see combat." Thayer paused and looked at the cadets. There were a number of grins and nods. Some cadets looked serious. Helen had a strange, hungry gleam in her eye that made Thayer shudder. _If any of them knew what combat was really like, they wouldn't be so eager!_ Thayer unconsciously reached down and scratched her right leg which was suddenly itching again.

"Unfortunately, we cannot guarantee that any of you will actually see combat," said Thayer with an ironic smile. "Due to the large number of you, we have to assign you to whatever ships are available. All will be in combat zones, but their actual missions will depend on their specific circumstances. Those of you who do not see action should not be disappointed. The vast majority of an officer's career is spent getting ready to fight or cleaning up the mess afterward-very little is actually spent fighting. Your time spent on the cruise will be extremely important in familiarizing you with the realities of actual service.

"I called you here today to make certain that you understand your status and your duties. Each of you will have between twenty and twenty-five cadets assigned to you. You will be in charge of those cadets and they will be required to take orders from you. However your command authority is subordinate to the chain of command on the vessels on which you will be serving. On board ship your groups will be split up and assigned to the various ship's departments. The cadets will be under the direct command of the ship's officers. Your responsibility will to be to supervise your cadets in their off duty hours. The cadets are expected to continue with their studies while off duty and stay out of trouble. It will be your job to see that they do so. You will also be expected to write an evaluation report of each of the cadets that will be appended to the reports of the officers they serve under.

"Now as to the matter of rank." continued Thayer. "While you are on Saganami Island, you have been designated as 'cadets'. As a cadet you have no authority whatsoever in the Navy." Some of the cadets stirred uneasily in their chairs. "The lowest ranking spacer has no duty to obey an order given by a cadet. When you leave Saganami Island your official designation changes to 'midshipman'. This is to place you in the chain of command. Even so, on your earlier cruises you were basically observers and guests and had no real place in the chain of command. For this cruise you will be expected to act as officers and give as well as take orders.

"The people under your command will, of course be midshipmen. Those of you here, however, will be given the brevet rank of ensign." There were a number of happy grins around the table at this news. "Since the rank of midshipman is only used by cadets from the Academy, there will be no other midshipmen already aboard your ships. There may, however, be some ensigns on those ships-some of them may be from last year's class. _Ladies and Gentlemen, those ensigns are your superior officers!_ Don't get any ideas about swaggering around because you have twenty midshipmen under your command. Those other ensigns have spent time on active duty. They are _real_ officers. You are merely potential officers. Don't forget it."

The cadets looked properly humble and chastised, but Thayer wondered if they really understood what she was saying. The officers they would be serving with had been out there, on the line, for years. They would have no toleration for some wet-behind-the-ears Kaydet who got too big for their britches.

"Now, for a bit of good news-or at least you will probably think it is good. My recommendation to the Admiralty concerning uniforms has been approved. In years past when cadets went on their 'prentice cruises they wore their gray cadet uniforms and simply added the appropriate rank collar pips. I have argued, successfully it seems, that the uniform was a constant reminder of the cadets' unusual status that actually undermined their authority aboard ship." Some faces around the table suddenly lit up as they realized what she was about to say. "For the duration of your cruise, therefore, you will wear the regulation RMN uniform."

They didn't quite cheer, but the look of excitement on their faces betrayed what they were feeling. Even Helen was smiling. It was a shame the Admiralty had not acted soon enough to allow the first battalion this same privilege, but that was the bureaucracy for you.

"I will remind you that these uniforms are only being _loaned_ to you. When you return to the Academy, they will be put away until graduation. You will find the uniforms waiting for you when you return to your quarters-you are not permitted to wear them outside your rooms until your actual day of departure.

"In approximately thirty minutes you will find that your official orders have been transferred to your terminals and com-pads," continued Thayer. "You will find a list of the cadets assigned to you, the name of the ship you will be serving aboard and instructions for when and how you will depart. Obviously, we do not have all twenty-four ships waiting for you in orbit. In some cases you may have a bit of traveling to do to reach your ship."

"Do you have any questions?"

One cadet tentatively raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Redmond?" said Thayer.

"Admiral, have you received any news on how First Battalion is making out?"

Thayer shifted in her chair and scratched her leg again. "Just as you will be going out to your ships in separate groups and on separate schedules, First Battalion will be returning in the same manner. Approximately one third of the battalion has returned already. They have been granted short leaves-as you will be- until the remainder of the battalion returns. The initial reports I have received indicate that your comrades have acquitted themselves very well." Thayer's face became grim. "Unfortunately, I have also received notice that three of them have been killed in action."

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Thayer looked at those young, young faces and wondered how many of them would make it back here from their own cruise.

"I know you all have friends in the first battalion. I wish I could tell you the names of the dead, but no official announcement will be made until the entire battalion has returned and all families have been notified. As always, your comrades will receive their commissions posthumously and their names will be inscribed on the Roll of Honor in Memorial Hall."

"Are there any more questions?" asked Thayer. There were none.

Thayer slowly and painfully got to her feet. The cadets all stood up and came to attention. Thayer brought her hand up in salute and the cadets did likewise.

"Very well, Ladies and Gentlemen! Carry out your orders. Good luck and good hunting!"

Thayer brought down her hand and watched as the cadets filed out of the room.

"Cadet Zilwicki, will you remain a moment?" said Thayer.

Helen Zilwicki stopped with a mild look of surprise on her face. "Of course, Admiral." she said.

A moment later only Thayer, Zilwicki and Semancik were in the room. Commander Semancik turned to Thayer. "Will you be needing me, Admiral?" he asked.

"Not for the moment, Commander, thank you." answered Thayer and she watched her adjutant leave the room. She turned back to Helen and stared at her for a few moments. _She looks just like her mother did when we were cadets together_, thought Thayer._ Except her mother smiled a lot more._ Helen just stood there with no emotion on her face. Thayer had not been able to see much of Helen in the time they had been here, but each time she did, it was just like this. Helen treated her like the Commandant rather than her godmother. Thayer was frustrated by her inability to break through Helen's outer shell.

"You wanted to see me, Admiral?" asked Helen after the silence became lengthy.

"Yes," said Thayer rousing herself from her woolgathering. "Walk with me back to my office." Thayer took her cane and slowly walked back the way she had come. Helen matched her pace.

"How is your leg, Admiral?" asked Zilwicki.

"It's getting better, Helen, thank you," answered Thayer. "A few more months, the doctors say, and I should be nearly back to normal."

"I imagine you are anxious to get another combat command," said Helen.

Thayer looked closely at Helen. "It is something I have thought about. Of course, I'm committed here for at least another year and a half. And to tell you the truth, I've grown rather attached to this place. Turning you young folk into officers is more challenging-and rewarding-than I ever imagined when I accepted this post."

"I can see that it is a very important job, Admiral," said Helen.

_Meaning it is a job that doesn't directly kill Peeps,_ thought Thayer, grimly. _You still haven't learned that there is more to being an officer than killing the enemy, have you Helen? God! How do I undo what I've done to this girl?_

They reached Thayer's office; Helen had been here on only three other occasions. Thayer remembered the first time, when Helen had seen the portrait of her mother. It almost seemed like something had finally gotten through her shell-but not quite. Now as she came in, she scarcely spared it a glance. Thayer invited Helen to sit in the comfortable chairs by the fireplace. As she expected, Helen declined any refreshments.

Thayer had thought of a number of things to say beforehand, but now they all seemed clumsy and pointless.

_How can I get through to her? Maybe if I had children of my own I would have some clue of how to start. Probably not, her armor is so thick it may be impenetrable._

"Have you gotten any letters from your father lately?" asked Thayer at last. It was the only thing she could think of to say.

"Why yes, ma'am," answered Helen, obviously surprised by the question. "He writes me often-usually once a week."

"Do you write back to him?"

Helen blushed slightly. "Not as often as I should, Admiral."

"No need to explain, Helen," smiled Thayer. "I was terrible about writing home when I was a cadet. Too many other things to do. I've had a few letters from your father myself. He worries about you, Helen."

Helen shrugged. "Parents do that, I understand."

"Yes they do," said Thayer with a smile. "Sometimes they even have good reason to, Helen. He also mentioned that your Aunt Jennifer just made the Captain's List."

That seemed to get Helen's attention. "Yes, he mentioned that in his last letter to me. My Aunt, that is Captain Loehlin, had also sent me a letter mentioning it. She and I have been exchanging letters for a while."

This was news to Thayer and she felt a brief surge of irrational jealousy. Helen had used to write to her. Thayer knew Captain Jennifer Loehlin only casually. She had never seemed very close to Helen's mother and Thayer had only met her a few times. The older Helen's death did not seem to fill her sister with the same sort of passion that it had Thayer-and the young Helen.

"Indeed? Well I'm sure you are getting some good tips on what it is like being on active service from her-like you used to get from me."

"Yes, ma'am, I am. Captain Loehlin is an excellent officer."

"I'm sure she is," said Thayer. "Some day you are going to be an excellent officer too, Helen. In his letters, your father mentions how proud he is of you. He is very proud of you-and so am I."

Helen blushed more deeply and said, "Thank you Admiral, that's very kind."

"It's not kindness, Helen, it's the simple truth. Your record here has been outstanding. All of the instructors have been extremely impressed." Thayer paused and tried to think how to say what she wanted to say. "If they've had any reservations about you at all, Helen, it has been that you seem overly eager to get out there and fight-not that that is too unusual for someone your age."

"That is our job, isn't it, Admiral?" asked Helen, "to fight the Peeps?"

"That is certainly one of our jobs, Helen, and right now probably our most important job, it is true. But being an officer is much more than just knowing how to fight. I know you have learned all this in your classes, but no matter how well prepared we think we are, we find that our duty is far more complicated than we expect. I speak from experience, Helen." The young woman nodded but said nothing.

"We have a lot of responsibilities. Not just the obvious ones, to Queen and Country, the Fleet, our superiors and subordinates. We also have morale obligations to our society and ourselves. Sometimes the most direct action isn't the best one, and we have to consider how what we do fits into the larger scheme of things." Thayer felt like she was just babbling, just throwing random phrases at Helen, hoping one might get past her defenses, _is any of this making any sense to her?_

Zilwicki sat there for a moment and a frown grew on her face.

"You're afraid I'll do something stupid out there, because of her," said Helen indicating the portrait with a jerk of her head. "Is that it, Admiral?"

Thayer was taken back. She had been trying to be circumspect, but she had not expected Helen to be so blunt. She fumbled for something to say.

"Not stupid, Helen, not stupid. But I have been concerned-for a long time-about your...motivation for becoming an officer."

"You mean because I hate the Peeps?" said Helen and anger tinged her voice. "Don't I have every reason to hate them, Admiral? Isn't that a good reason to want to fight them?" She paused for a moment and stared straight into Thayer's eyes. "I can remember when you used to hate them, too."

Thayer sat back in her chair in surprise. Zilwicki seemed to realize that she had gone too far, her eyes dropped and she said: "I'm sorry, Admiral, that was impertinent of me."

Thayer sat and stared at her goddaughter for a few moments, her mind in turmoil. _What do I say to her? She does have good reasons to hate them, but how do I tell her that the hate can destroy her, too-like it nearly did me?_

"No it wasn't, Helen, I probably deserved that," said Thayer at last. "You are right, you do have reasons to hate them and I did, too. But hate can't be the only thing driving you, Helen. Someday the war will be over and you will need something more to sustain you than your hate."

Helen was silent for a while and looked down at the carpet. Finally she looked up and said: "You may be right, Admiral. But the war will probably go on for a long time, and right now it's all I have."

Thayer was silent in turn. She looked at this young woman that meant so much to her. She wanted to take her into her arms and comfort her, but Helen wanted no comforting-would not admit she needed any comforting. Thayer slowly got to her feet and Zilwicki did the same.

"Helen, take care of yourself out there," she said.

"Thank you, Admiral, I will."

They exchanged salutes, and Helen left. _I would trade every salute in the galaxy for one hug from her,_ thought Thayer sadly. _Well, that was a disaster, so much for trying to reach her._

Thayer took her cane and slowly walked to her desk and carefully sat down. She looked up at the portrait of Captain Helen Zilwicki. Thayer found herself talking to the portrait more and more as time went by. She called it "Thinking out loud" and so far, no one had caught her at it-at least as far as she knew.

"She's quite a woman, Helen. Captain Wagner says she's one of the best tacticians to come through the academy since Honor Harrington. She is a daughter to be proud of and she will go far."

_If the war-or the fire inside her- does not kill her first._

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**C**adet-Major Helen Zilwicki walked across the Quad, away from Gatchell Hall, with her usual brisk stride. There were a number of other cadets moving along the pathways and a few cyclists wove between them. It was quite a walk to the new cadet quarters on the edge of the bay and from time to time Helen had considered acquiring a cycle. She had never actually gotten around to it, and there was not much point now with her time at Saganami Academy nearly done. In any case, Helen enjoyed the walk; it gave her a chance to think.

Two cyclists zipped by her from behind, missing her by centimeters. She was slightly startled, but she did not flinch or make any sign as the pair of riders looked back at her with a grin and then sped off. The near miss was quite intentional she was sure. It was one of the few ways an underclassman could try and get the better of an upperclassman without fear of retaliation. "Strafing" it was called and unless there was an actual collision, the underclassman could claim it was just an innocent miscalculation and no harm done. If the upperclassman tried to make an issue of it they would only end up looking ridiculous. The best countermeasure for the target was to ignore the whole thing, which Helen did.

Helen checked her chrono and saw that her new orders should have been downloaded to her computer by now. She turned off the main path and found an empty bench among the neatly sculpted gardens on the south side of the Quad. She sat down, opened her com-pad and called up the orders. She quickly scanned over the main points and left the rest to be studied later.

_Let's see... I've been assigned to HMS Relentless-that's an old Prince Consort class heavy cruiser... just finished a refit here in the Manticore system. I'm to report via Academy shuttle the day after tomorrow. Report to Captain Sir Michael Kraus... haven't heard his name before, I'll have to look up his record. I have twenty-five cadets assigned to me, list to follow... etc. etc._

Helen scrolled down to the list of cadets and was pleasantly surprised. _Anny, Patric and Alby! All three of my roommates!_ There was an article of faith in the Navy that the first thing BuPers did was to find out who your friends were and then assign them to somewhere as far away as physically possible. It wasn't really true of course, but it was one of those legendary gripes that everyone took pleasure in perpetuating. Still, for Helen to be assigned to the same ship with her three closest friends seemed a bit too lucky. _I wonder if Admiral Thayer had anything to do with this?_

The thought of the Admiral wiped the smile off her face as she replayed the meeting she just had with her in her mind. It had been as awkward as all the other ones since Helen had come to the Academy.

_I don't understand her,_ she thought in frustration;_ I don't understand any of them. Her, my father, the psych people, they all treat the fact that I hate the Peeps like some dirty little secret that you can't talk about in public! Well, it's not a secret: I hate the Peeps!_

"I hate the Peeps," she said aloud. And then she said it louder just to be sure the whole galaxy knew it. "I hate the Peeps!"

A passing cadet looked at her in surprise, but Helen glared at him so fiercely he turned his head away, quickened his pace and disappeared. It did not make her feel one bit better.

_What's wrong with hating the Peeps? Surely I have good reason to hate them. Personal reasons. But they should hate them too! My father and Admiral Thayer have reasons just as good as mine. And every Manticoran should hate the Peeps. Hell, every decent person in the galaxy should hate them! They've looted and enslaved a hundred different worlds and if they win this war the same will happen to Manticore. They'll rape the planet and every military or civilian leader above the rank of petty officer or dog-catcher will be shot or sent off to one of their labor planets and never heard from again. _

Helen had thought these thoughts a hundred times before but she admitted that her own hatred went beyond even what the Peeps deserved. It worried her father and Admiral Thayer and now and then it even worried her a little. There were times when the hate would build up in her and she would go to the gym and take it out on some poor sparring partner in martial arts exercises. That wasn't too bad, but there were other times when the blinding rages would come. At those times if she had suddenly found a magic button that would have blown away the Peeps-all thirty _billion_ of them-she would have pushed it without a second's hesitation. She could usually control the rage-focus it to give her an unstoppable energy-but she knew it was not quite normal.

For as long as she could remember the hate had been there. She had only dim memories of her mother, but the desire to avenge her-the desire to hurt the Peeps as they had hurt her-was always there. For years she had looked to Admiral Thayer as the model for the revenge she someday hoped to exact. Thayer had hurt the Peeps! Young Helen had thrilled to hear her accounts of the battles she had fought and won. Then something had changed the Admiral. In her letters, the tales of combat had become inquiries about Helen's schoolwork, about her friends and family. Thayer had once even asked if she had a boyfriend-_a boyfriend!_ Helen wondered what had caused the change. Sometimes a major wound, like losing a leg, made a person more cautious, but the change in Thayer had come long before she lost her leg. The model warrior had started to sound like her father.

Her father.

Helen shook her head. Her father was even more of a mystery than Admiral Thayer. She knew he loved her and she loved him, too, in her way. He had been a good parent to her after her mother was killed. He gave her the love and care she needed-but he had not hurt the Peeps. Helen could not understand. He was a naval officer, why didn't he fight the Peeps? In her mind she knew that he was a support officer and his job was just as important to the war effort as those out on the line, but her heart did not understand. _Didn't he burn inside? Didn't he want to hurt the people who had killed his wife?_ Helen never doubted that her father loved her mother. She still had nightmares about the times she had listened at his door at night and heard his terrible sobs. So she did not understand. After her mother's death they had spent a year on Grendelsbane and then her father had gotten a transfer back to Manticore and there they had stayed. He had not put in for a transfer to shipboard duty and ten years later he had only risen one grade in rank. Helen was not exactly ashamed of him but she was... disappointed.

She sighed and looked at her chrono again. It was time to get back to her quarters. She had no class or battalion duties before her departure, but she wanted to make sure her subordinates were getting ready and she had a few things she wanted to do herself. Helen rose from the bench and resumed her walk

Before the changes to the Academy, her quarters as a Fourth Form cadet would have been in one of the ancient buildings just off the Quad. Now, however, all the cadets were housed in a huge new complex of buildings constructed on pilings that projected out over the sea near the harbor. The old dormitories had been converted to offices for the expanded faculty. As she walked through a vine-covered archway between two of the buildings she encountered Captain Gabriel Keeler. They exchanged salutes and Keeler stopped.

"So, Ms. Zilwicki, off for your 'prentice cruise I understand?" said Keeler.

"Yes, sir, I ship out the day after tomorrow."

"Well, I just want to wish you luck. Things are getting pretty hot out there-be sure to watch your back!" said Keeler with a grin.

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir, I will." answered Helen with a small smile.

Keeler offered her his huge hand. She took it and shook it firmly. They exchanged salutes again and Helen continued on her way. She glanced back to see Keeler disappear around a corner. Helen rather liked Captain Keeler. When she had first come to the Academy he had seemed very cold and gruff, but then he discovered her interest in the martial arts. They had become sparring partners and she eventually ended up as an assistant instructor. He had warmed to her considerably after that and Helen had to admit Keeler was probably her favorite faculty member.

The path took Helen past more buildings. These were newer than those on the Quad, but still quite old. The Academy had begun with Gatchall Hall and the Quad and then grown outwards. It was like a tree: the inner ring was the oldest and it got younger and younger as you neared the edge. The youngest of all the buildings now came into sight, the Cadet Dormitory.

Helen did not know anything about architecture, but she knew what she did not like. Compared with the elegant, ivy-covered buildings of the inner campus, the dormitory was an eyesore. She could have understood a simple box-like structure as a wartime necessity, but the dormitory was an unpleasant collection of shapes and geometric forms that must have cost far more to build than the classical structures of the Quad. It was functional enough, she supposed, once you got used to the strange circulation patterns and room numbering system, but the cadets joked that it had been built on pilings so that at the war's end, a few well placed demolition charges could dump the whole unsightly mess into the bay.

Rumor also had it that the dormitory was going to be called "Harrington Hall" after the then-presumed dead Admiral Honor Harrington. If true, the plan must have been hastily abandoned after the Admiral's miraculous return. _I'm sure she's far happier with just the statue than having her name attached to this monstrosity!_

The name of Admiral Harrington brought Helen's thoughts back to her roommate Anny Payne, which in turn brought a smile to her face. Anny worshipped the ground Lady Harrington walked on and Helen had to admit she could have hardly picked a better role model. From all that she had heard about her, Admiral Harrington, for all her tactical brilliance, was a little too open-minded when it came to the Peeps for Helen's tastes, but she was perfect for Anny.

It still amazed Helen that she had gotten so close to Anny Payne. They were not exactly opposites, but they were very different people indeed. By her own admission, Helen was as grim and serious a cadet as you were likely to find. Anny was no less dedicated to becoming an officer, but she was light-hearted, good-natured and at times downright frivolous. She could light up a room, but Helen also found her exasperating. Helen understood the handicaps Anny's culture had inflicted on her, but when Anny would start fussing over their laundry and mooning over boys, Helen could only roll her eyes. The fact that Admiral Thayer had charged Helen, Patric and Alby with seeing to it that any mooning never went any further only added to the strangeness of their friendship.

By all rights Helen should not have liked Anny at all. Anny basically had a free ride like the other cadets from noble families. As long as she made a semblance of an effort, Anny was sure to be commissioned for political reasons. And Anny's whole reason for wanting to come to the Academy was little more than a schoolgirl fantasy: it was romantic and following the lead of her idol, Admiral Harrington. Anny had no desire to kill Peeps at all-even after what they had done to Harrington. Helen should have resented Anny, but she did not. It was just impossible not to like Anny Payne.

Even so, Helen wondered if Anny would ever become a real officer. She certainly had the brains, her grades were excellent and even Helen had asked her for help on occasion, but she just didn't act like an officer. For one thing, she could not give orders-especially to men. She took orders just fine, but when it came to telling someone else to do something, she would ask or request or even plead, but she would not _order_ them. It was hard to imagine Anny leading anyone in a dangerous situation-or anyone following her. Anny was well aware of her limitations. Helen knew that she had had a serious crisis of confidence in her second form and had nearly resigned. Something had happened-Helen did not know what-but Anny had stayed and stuck it out. Helen had to admire her for that: it could not have been easy.

Helen reached the causeway leading to her section of the dorm and crossed over into the building. A lift ride and a short walk brought her to her quarters. She entered the common room and glanced into the other bedrooms and the bathroom, but none of her roommates seemed to be in. She went into her room and closed the door. On her bed was a neatly folded black uniform. She glanced at it and then went to her desk and sat down. Listed on her terminal was a copy of her orders, several other messages, and a letter from her father. She read the letter quickly and frowned. It was the same sort of thing he usually wrote, plus a wish of good luck for her cruise. Helen knew she really should answer the letter before she left, but right now she did not feel like it.

Instead, she re-read her orders and called up Captain Kraus' record as well as the record of _HMS Relentless_ and her crew. Helen was a great believer in being prepared. She wanted to know everything she could about the people she would be serving with. She was checking to see if there was any way to contact _Relentless'_ first officer before she arrived, to iron out details, when she heard someone enter the common room. A muffled squeal of delight came through the door and confirmed that it was Anny. Helen checked the time and in less than five minutes there was a rapid knock at her door.

"Helen! Helen! Are you in there?" asked Anny excitedly.

"Yes, I am, Anny. Come on in," answered Helen.

The door opened and in danced Anny Payne wearing-as Helen expected-her space-black midshipman's uniform. Anny had a huge grin on her face, but she stopped and stared at Helen, looked at the folded uniform on the bed and then back at Helen.

"I can't believe you're not wearing it!" exclaimed Anny. "Aren't you excited about this?"

"It's just a uniform, Anny," said Helen with exaggerated patience in her voice. "We wear them so we don't have to go naked."

"Oh, Helen! You are so...so... boring!" said Anny in exasperation. "This is what we've worked so hard for: not the uniform, but what it represents! We're nearly there, Helen, can't you at least get a little excited?"

We're not there yet, Anny. We still have a lot of work to do."

Anny stuck her tongue out at Helen and went over to look at Helen's uniform. After a moment her eyes opened wide and she whipped her head around to stare at Helen in delight.

"They made you an ensign! Oh, Helen, that's great! You've really earned that." Anny came over and gave Helen a hug in her chair, then she turned back to the uniform and traced her fingers over the narrow gold welt that encircled the sleeves of Helen's uniform-and that her own uniform lacked. "I wonder what ships we'll each get?" mused Anny.

Now Helen did roll her eyes. "If you had not been so intent on your wonderful new set of clothes, you might have noticed that our orders have been posted."

"Really?" said Anny and she dashed back into her own room. Helen silently counted seconds in her head. She had not reached thirty when a loud whoop of joy came from Anny's room and a few seconds later Anny reappeared.

"We've got the same ship!" she shouted. "We're on the same ship, Helen!"

"Yes, I know," said Helen with a smile. "Patric and Alby are with us, too."

"Really? said Anny again. "That's wonderful! Of course, I knew Patric and I would get the same ship, but having you and Alby along, too! Oh, we are going to have such a great time, Helen!"

"That's not really why we're going on this cruise you know."

"I know, but we are still going to have a great time," insisted Anny. "Now come on, put on your uniform so I can practice saluting you."

"Anny, you salute me all the time, I'm your battalion commander, remember?"

"That's not the same," said Anny, grabbing Helen's arm and pulling her out of her chair.

Helen smiled; she knew a hopeless position when she saw it. She gave in to the inevitable and started peeling off her gray cadet tunic.

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**W**hen the day of departure arrived even Helen was excited, although she did her best to conceal it from her charges. She and the twenty-five cadets under her command were all packed, dressed in their new uniforms, and down at the landing pads a good hour ahead of time. By chance-if it was chance-their cutter was piloted by CPO Jon Seaton, who was a special friend of Patric McDermott. Patric and Seaton chattered away while Seaton made his final check of the cutter's systems. Helen knew that the gray-haired chief had a wealth of practical experience, so she stayed close enough to overhear his talk with Patric.

"A _Prince Consort_, eh?" said Seaton, who had his head stuck into an open inspection panel. "I've served on a few of them, though not this _Relentless_ you're headed for. They're tough customers: fast and dangerous. Leastways they were when I was aboard them; I know they've got more modern cruisers now, but you'll do well enough, I'm thinking."

"She's just finished a refit, Jon," said Patric, "that should help."

"Aye, a face-lift for an old lady," chuckled Seaton. "Upgrades in electronics and other systems can keep an old ship useful. Why, do you know that some of the dreadnoughts in the fleet are older than I am? Still, it's the heart of the ship that really counts. Every ship has a heart and soul, Patric. Some of it comes from the people who built her and some from the people who serve aboard her. If you treat her right she'll give you more than the designers ever thought she could."

Seaton finished whatever he was doing and shut the inspection panel. He patted the skin of the cutter. "Even a little lady like this one deserves to be treated well," he said lovingly. It always amused Helen that even though Manticoran society had done away with all sexual stereotypes and biases, spacers-and especially male spacers-continued to treat their vessels as females. Apparently that was something so ingrained that even centuries of enlightenment could not eradicate it.

The chief noticed Helen standing nearby and although he continued to speak to Patric he seemed to be aiming his words for both of them. "A word of advice, young Patric: When you get up to your ship and get assigned to a department, find the senior petty officer of that section and have a little chat with him. He'll be able to tell you how things run better than anyone else. Most of you officers don't realize, but it's the POs that actually run a ship; you lordly types are just along for the ride." Seaton was grinning and had a twinkle in his eye. "I really shouldn't have told you that-it's a guild secret-but it might save you some grief. Just don't tell anyone else or I'll get in trouble with me mates."

Seaton walked over to where Helen was standing, came to attention and saluted. "Ma'am, I've completed my inspection. You can board whenever you are ready."

"Thank you, Chief." said Helen, returning his salute. "We'll board at once."

Turning to where her people were standing, Helen called them to attention. They fell into ranks and she called off the roll from memory. Naturally, everyone was present-who would be late on a day like this?

"Squad! Board Ship!" ordered Helen.

Her cadets shouldered their bags and climbed into the cutter. Alby winked at her as he passed and Anny had a huge grin. Helen watched them and then, as the senior officer present, was the last one aboard. This "last on, first off" tradition for the senior officer was fine for veterans who had seen it all, but it had one drawback for newbies like Helen: By the time she got aboard and closed the hatch, all the window seats were taken. She knew it was childish, and it was not like she had never spaced before, but she wanted to see the approach to the ship. She could not order one of the cadets to give up their seat without seeming petty. She looked into the flight deck, but Patric was in the co-pilot's seat next to his friend. Helen was just about to give up and sit down next to Anny when she remembered there was a pull-down chair in the rear bulkhead of the flight deck. She stuck her head through the hatch.

"Permission to observe, Chief?" she asked. She may have outranked Seaton, but it was his vessel and he would have had the final say even if she were an admiral.

"Of course, Ms. Zilwicki, honored to have you here, pull up a seat." answered Seaton, without taking his eyes off the instruments.

Helen "pulled up" a seat, by pulling it down. It wasn't nearly as comfortable as the regular passenger seats, but it had a good view through the forward port. She sat down and buckled the safety harness. "Thanks, Chief."

"Not at all, not at all," said Seaton. Then he hit the com switch. "Saganami Control, this is cutter SA-112, requesting permission for take off."

"SA-112, you are cleared for take off," replied a female voice. "Where you off to today, Jon?"

"I've got a load of middies bound for their 'prentice cruise and they're mighty eager to get there, Trish," said Seaton.

"I bet they are, well don't keep them waiting."

"Roger, Saganami Control, SA-112 commencing lift off."

The Chief activated the counter-gravity generators and the cutter was suddenly weightless. "Raise the gear will you, Patric?" said Seaton, even though he could have easily done it himself.

Patric grinned and hit the proper switch, "Gear coming up, Chief." In a moment there was a slight thump. "Up and locked," said Patric.

Seaton put his hands on the thruster controls and the cutter jumped upwards pushing them down into their seats. He held the acceleration to only about one and a half gravities. He claimed his old bones could not stand any more than that. Helen felt sure that if he had increased the acceleration he would have still been conscious long after the rest of them had passed out. Even at the lesser acceleration, it was only a few minutes before the blue sky started fading to black and the stars came out. The experience never failed to awe Helen; they were literally leaving the world behind.

The Chief altered the direction of thrust to throw the cutter into a path around Manticore that would intersect the orbit of _HMS Relentless_. The amount of power at his disposal allowed Seaton to take a very direct course but would require him to decelerate sharply as they approached the ship. He checked his navigational instruments, confirmed his course with Manticore Traffic Control and announced they would rendezvous in twenty-eight minutes.

Helen relaxed as much as the uncomfortable chair would allow and watched the sights visible through the viewport. The space around Manticore was always crowded and a fair number of other vessels were visible, although most were just gleaming white specks moving against the starry backdrop. The gigantic _Hephaestus _space station, which could be clearly seen from the ground even in the daytime, was hanging overhead, a long, lumpy cylinder with a dozen other specks hovering nearby. Near at hand, Helen could see several cargo lighters heading for the planet.

Helen had little interest in the civilian traffic and she tried to pick out the warships of Home Fleet. She thought she could spot a few, but most of the warships were kept in extremely high orbits to give them a large safety zone when they needed to bring up their impeller wedges. She could see several of the huge orbital fortresses that ringed the planet. She did not know exactly what orbit _Relentless_ was in, but Chief Seaton did and that was good enough for right now. Keeping half an eye out the viewport in case something interesting turned up, Helen reviewed what she had learned in the last day and a half.

Helen had managed to get a message through to the ship's executive officer, Commander Paula Constantini, inquiring about the arrangements for the cadets. Constantini seemed quite impressed that Helen had made that effort and was very forthcoming with information. Some of the information had not been very good. The officers of _Relentless _were so busy getting her ready for space after her refit that they had made no plans for the batch of cadets about to descend on them. The Academy had a set of guidelines for ships playing host to cadets, but it was always up to the officers in command to implement them. To make matters worse, _Relentless _was terribly undermanned when it came to officers. An old cruiser like her was low on the priority list for replacements and the Navy-wide shortage of officers had hit her hard. They were stretched so thin, that even Helen's batch of twenty-six would not put them up to full complement. Constantini and Helen had done some brainstorming via the com the previous night. Together they had come up with a plan that was better than anything Helen could have hoped for.

_Relentless'_ refit had incorporated some changes that went beyond an upgrade in electronics. The most significant-at least as far as the cadets were concerned-was the construction of an auxiliary control room. This was basically a small duplicate of the main bridge. Prior to the war, the policy in BuShips was that no ship smaller than a battlecruiser rated an auxiliary control. Wartime experience, however, had shown that there were many times when a cruiser could lose its bridge and still be battle worthy. The Navy had had a number of its ships put out of action unnecessarily because of bridge hits. Thus the newer cruisers were now being built with auxiliary control rooms from the start and the older ships were having them added when the opportunity allowed. Of course, nothing comes free and something had to be removed in order to fit in the auxiliary control. In the case of _Relentless_, this meant losing two-thirds of her marine complement. This decision was also a wartime lesson. Pre-war ships had heavy marine contingents because they were often cruising about on their own, escorting merchant ships, chasing down pirates and generally showing the flag in far off places like Silesia. Under those circumstances it made sense, but in a full-blown war, with ships usually part of large squadrons, the marines from a cruiser rarely had anything to do. Marines typically filled in as weapons crews and damage control parties during a battle, but it was a waste of highly trained troopers. Instead of two companies, _Relentless_ now only had two, slightly overstrength, platoons.

Helen thought it was too bad about losing the marines-she liked marines. In fact, she had once considered joining the Marines instead of the Navy. She was not sure if that was so she could kill Peeps face to face or not, but it had never really become an issue. When the Navy had reduced the enlistment age, the Marines had not and that settled it right there as far as Helen was concerned.

No matter what Helen's personal feelings about the marines, she knew that she and her cadets were going to be very lucky because of this change. As was so often the case in a large bureaucracy, the right hand did not know what the left was doing. BuShips was refitting its cruisers with an auxiliary control, but BuPers was not providing its cruisers with a duplicate set of bridge personnel. Some ships may have been able to deal with this situation, but it was stretching the resources of _Relentless'_ officers beyond the breaking point.

Every ship had a minimum number of officers and crew needed to man the ship during its most critical period-when the ship was at battlestations. There were a certain number of posts that simply had to be manned if the ship was to fight efficiently. _Relentless _did not have enough officers to fill those posts and was using its petty officers to take up the slack. This could work in a lot of the engineering and damage control departments, but for the critical posts on the bridge-and now in Auxiliary Control, you just had to have the highly trained officers. _Relentless _was managing to scrape by, but there was no way to come up with nine new bridge officers for Auxiliary Control without leaving serious holes in other departments. This fact was creating a wonderful opportunity for the cadets.

Instead of being loaned out to the various ship's departments to stand watches in the power rooms, impeller controls and damage repair parties, the cadets would stand their watches in Auxiliary Control. Naturally there would be an experienced officer actually in command, but the cadets would fill the other posts. This was really a major break: bridge duty was the key to advancement in the navy, and having three months of it on their record before they even graduated would give them a jump-start to their careers. Helen had not mentioned this to the other cadets and she smiled when she thought about their likely reactions.

"There's your new home comin' up fast," said Chief Seaton, startling Helen out of her musings. She looked out the port but could not decide which speck he was referring to.

"Stand by for braking," said the Chief. He took the controls and the cutter spun end for end. He activated the thrusters and Helen was pushed back in her seat once again. Seaton was not sparing his old bones this time and they were under about four gravities for several long minutes. Helen was starting to wish they were in a larger vessel that had an artificial gravity unit designed to counteract the acceleration effects when the thrust gradually died away.

Seaton spun the cutter again and when she looked out the port this time, Helen had no doubt which ship they were headed for. A _Prince Consort_ class heavy cruiser was right in front of them about twenty kilometers away and still closing fairly fast. The ship was over a kilometer long and had the standard shape of all large warships. She was basically a long, flattened cylinder that narrowed suddenly about a quarter of the way in from each end and then flared back out again before tapering down at the very ends, giving her a spindle or hammerhead shape.

"Cutter SA-112, calling _HMS Relentless_, requesting permission to dock," said the Chief into his com.

"SA-112, this is _Relentless_ Flight Ops, you are cleared to dock in boat bay one, docking coordinates uploading now," said a voice.

"Roger, _Relentless_, coordinates received, thank you."

The Chief swung the cutter slightly to starboard and began to decelerate gently using the bow thrusters. The cruiser continued to grow rapidly in the viewport and Helen could now see more details. The most noticeable feature was a darker band that stretched along the side of the ship. This was the main gundeck, where all of the broadside weapons-missile tubes, laser and graser batteries-were mounted. There was an identical band on the opposite side of the ship. The size of the weapons, particularly the lengthy missile tubes and their ammunition feeds dictated the shape and layout of the main hull. The gundeck took up a thick slice of the ship that ran side to side and the whole length of the hull between the hammerheads. Most of the other components of the ship were located in the space above or below the gundeck or in the two hammerheads. The two boat bays were mounted in the top and bottom of the ship and slightly aft of the ship's center. They were headed for Boat Bay One, which was mounted on top of the ship.

The cutter was moving around to the stern of the ship and turning to approach from behind. By now their speed had dropped to just a few dozen meters per second relative to the cruiser. More details could be seen: counter-missile tubes, point defense laser clusters, sensor arrays, hatches, and viewports. Helen noted the stern chase armament peering menacingly from the rear hammerhead. They drifted over the top of the ship and they got a glimpse of the alpha and beta nodes of the aft impeller ring. Then they were hovering motionless over the opening to boat bay one.

"_Relentless_, this is SA-112, we are ready for the tractor," said Seaton.

"Acknowledged, SA-112, engaging tractor." An invisible beam of force reached out and grabbed the cutter. Seaton shut down the thrusters and the counter-gravity, lowered the landing gear and let the cruiser pull them into the boat bay. In a few moments, they had been deposited gently on the deck. Seaton activated the magnetic grapples in the landing gear and they were down.

A boarding tube extended itself from one bulkhead and made fast to the lock of the cutter. The cadets unstrapped from their seats and made ready to debark. Patric extended his hand to Seaton who grasped it firmly.

"Good-bye, Jon, I'll see you in three months," said Patric solemnly.

"Take care of yourself, lad, I'll be waiting for you." replied Seaton. Then he looked at Helen. "You'll take good care of my pal, won't you, Ms. Zilwicki?"

"I'll do my best, Mr. Seaton," replied Helen with a smile, "but he doesn't need much looking after."

"Well, well, let's not get all emotional, those lads on the cruiser are probably waiting for me to get out of here. Off with you now! Good luck and try not to get this fine ship all dented-they just finished sprucing her up and that would be a pity." Patric and Helen grinned at the elderly CPO and then made their way off the flight deck and to the cutter's lock.

Helen checked to make sure the seal was tight since the boat bay was still in vacuum, then opened the hatch. She stepped out of the cutter's artificial gravity field and pushed herself down the boarding tube. Helen was quite adept at zero-gravity maneuvers, but it was awkward since she was towing her bag. She had to gently push off the side of the tube several times before she reached the end and landed on her feet as she crossed into _Relentless'_ gravity field.

There was a typical side party of an ensign and two marines waiting for her. Helen saluted. "Permission to come aboard sir?"

"Granted, welcome aboard," replied the ensign, returning her salute. "Commander Constantini is waiting for you and the others over there."

Helen looked where the ensign had indicated and saw a tall, handsome woman in the uniform of a commander waiting a dozen paces away. Helen walked over to her and saluted again. "Ensign Helen Zilwicki reporting, ma'am, here are my orders."

The Commander returned her salute, "Welcome aboard, Helen, it's nice to meet you in the flesh." Constantini took the orders and then offered Helen her hand. "As soon as all your comrades are aboard I'll take you to your quarters and we'll have a little talk."

Helen turned and looked back and saw that it was taking a while for all twenty-five of her midshipmen to get permission from the side party to come aboard. The ensign in charge was starting to look a little bored with it by the time the last middie had been saluted through. Once they were all together, Commander Constantini led them along several corridors, down a lift and through more corridors to reach their quarters. Helen had studied the layout of the ship beforehand, and she thought she knew where she was.

After the cruiser's refit had eliminated most of the facilities needed for the marine complement and built the new Auxiliary Control, there had actually been a little room left over. This was made into extra bunk space in case more marines needed to be carried for special missions. This bunk space had been turned over to Helen and her comrades. Originally designed for fifty marines, twenty-four of the bunks had been removed and worktables had been installed. It was rather crude compared to what they had been used to, but the midshipmen were excited enough that they would have gladly slept on the bare decks. As understrength as _Relentless _was, there were actually enough empty berths in the Officers' Quarters to house the cadets, but Constantini and Helen had decided it made more sense to keep the cadets together rather than scatter them all over the ship.

Constantini called them all together and welcomed them aboard _Relentless_. When she explained what she and Helen had come up with for their duty assignments, the middies were even more excited; twenty-five grinning faces met the Commander's gaze.

"It's not all good news, I'm afraid," she continued, "the Captain is going to have to be convinced that you can handle yourselves adequately in Auxiliary Control before he will actually trust you to function there when the ship is at battlestations. We do not have enough regular officers to replace you there, so until you get Captain Kraus' approval, your boards will be taken off line when we go to general quarters. In addition, only one of the three watches will be designated as the prime watch for battlestation duty even after you get his approval. We can't afford to let the rest of you sit around! All of you will be assigned to a secondary duty station. In order to learn what to do at that post you are going to have to serve there as well as in Auxiliary Control. You will be standing two watches a day in Auxiliary Control, and I'm going to have to assign each of you a third watch at your secondary station. That means you will be on duty twelve hours out of every twenty-four. I know you have studies to continue as well. By the time you add in eating and the other necessities of life, you are going to be a bit short on sleep, I'm afraid. I'm sorry about that, but most of the officers on _Relentless _are already standing three watches as it is. Frankly, we can use your help and we intend to."

The middies smiles hardly faded, they had been working that sort of schedule for the last twenty-seven months. They were all young, superbly conditioned, and highly motivated. Most of them were wondering how long the Commander had been out of the Academy to have forgotten those days.

"But the work won't start immediately, "said Constantini with a smile, "Captain Kraus has invited all of you for a welcome dinner in the Officers' Mess at 1900 hours tonight. You have until then to get settled in and explore the ship. I think I can trust you all not to get into any trouble before then." The Commander dismissed them and left.

The midshipmen looked over their new quarters and found their bunks. The bunks were stacked four high, so Helen, Anny, Patric and Alby grabbed one rack for themselves. Helen was not quite sure how she ended up with the top bunk, but she really did not mind. After they had stowed their gear, Anny came up to Helen.

"Pretty sneaky there, Ensign," she said with a grin, "scheming with the Commander, and not even telling your roomies-for shame!"

"Yes," agreed Alby, "I'm supposed to be the clever one in this group."

Helen smiled at them but instead of answering, she called all the middies together and told them that if they wanted to explore the ship, they had to stay in groups and to be back in quarters no later than 1800 to get ready for the dinner. Before long, most of her charges had left. Helen and her friends soon followed.

They called up the ship's layout on their compads and spent the next few hours tramping from bow to stern, port to starboard and top to bottom of _HMS Relentless._ It was interesting enough, but the truth is that the innards of one warship are pretty much like the innards of every other. The main thing was to become familiar with how to get from one part of the ship to another. The only section that really caught their attention was the Auxiliary Control which they spent nearly an hour investigating. Something else also caught Anny's attention, although she tried not to show it: The middies were going to have to share their shower and toilet facilities with the marines.

Helen noticed Anny's discomfort when they realized that fact. _Oh my, I hope she can deal with that,_ thought Helen. There were many cultural differences between Manticore and Anny's home on Grayson, but one difference that Helen had never thought about before meeting Anny was the complete segregation of bathroom facilities between the sexes. It seemed very strange to Helen, but the fact was that Grayson's men and women never saw each other naked unless they were married to each other. She remembered during their first form how they had become aware of Anny's inhibitions. Patric, lovable, clueless lunk that he was, walked out of the shower and to his room right past Anny with nothing on but the towel he has using to dry his hair. Helen and Alby had to peel Anny off the wall and push her eyeballs back in her head. After that, they had been careful not to do anything to shock Anny. Patric still felt bad about that, doubly so after Anny's father had named him Anny's "male protector".

Still, Anny had been forced to adapt at the Academy. There were times when she had to use a common shower and locker room and there was no time for her to wait until everyone else was finished. She managed by keeping her eyes averted and she had become quite skillful at protecting her own modesty with a towel and still get clean. Helen supposed she would manage here too. She briefly considered asking Commander Constantini if Anny could use one of the officers' showers, but the nearest one was so far away, it was not really practical. When they returned to their quarters, some of the other middies were already getting showered in preparation for the Captain's dinner. Anny claimed she had done nothing today to work up a sweat and decided she did not need one. Helen suspected she would be up well before their first watch tomorrow to use the facilities.

The dinner with Captain Kraus and the other officers of _Relentless_ was much different from what Helen had expected. There were nearly a hundred of them in the Officers' Mess but even with the twenty-six cadets there were empty places. A half dozen officers were standing watch, but all the others were there and the left over chairs were disturbing. Equally disturbing were some of the officers themselves. A lot of them were quite young, only a few months or years out of the Academy. But in a Prolong-using society most people looked young. What surprised Helen were the ones that did not look young. There were a number of gray or even white haired officers. They must have been first generation Prolong recipients and by rights should have been enjoying an honorable retirement. Instead, they were still in uniform, helping hold the line against the Peeps. Helen, used to the bustling and well-staffed Academy, had not quite realized just how thin that line had become. _Of course if it were not for the shortage of officers, I would not even be here yet. _That thought did not make her feel much better.

On the other hand, the food was very good and their hosts treated them like officers instead of school children. The Captain had considerately not made this dinner a mess dress uniform affair since none of the middies had that elaborate set of clothing. Helen found that the Captain, along with his officers, was glad to have the midshipmen aboard-they could use the help. Captain Kraus appeared to be a good-natured sort although a bit too conscious of social rank for Helen's tastes. He made sure that Alby and Susan Pescatore, the two middies from the Peerage in Helen's group, were seated near him and he was constantly addressing them as "Lord Hinsworth" and "Lady Pescatore" and insisting that they call him "Sir Michael". Helen had researched Kraus' record and his knighthood seemed to have come from family connections rather than any great accomplishment in the Navy. Still, his career had been solid enough to make the Captains' List and he had been in command of _Relentless_ for three years, with a number of engagements to his credit.

Kraus mostly ignored Helen, although he made several well-intentioned but rather clumsy comments about her mother. Helen was used to that sort of thing and she spent most of the evening talking with Commander Constantini. She found that she liked the Commander and it was obvious that Constantini was rather taken with Helen as well. They discussed how to set up the watches in Auxiliary Control, but they also talked about their respective backgrounds. Helen was reminded of her correspondence with both Admiral Thayer and her Aunt Jennifer, but for the first time she felt like she was an equal (or nearly equal) partner, rather than just a kid listening to the stories of her elders. It made her feel very good.

The Captain did make one significant announcement during the course of the evening. He stood up and officially welcomed the middies to his ship and then mentioned how pleased he was with the plan for using them in the Auxiliary Control.

"Right now, the plan is to disable your controls when the ship really goes into action. But you are going to be given a rigorous schedule of simulations. Whichever watch scores the highest will become the prime watch for Auxiliary Control. If I am satisfied with your performance, then you will be allowed to remain active in battle." There were a number of smiles among the midshipmen and a few frowns among the ship's other officers at the Captain's statement. "I suppose this is truly a no lose situation for me," continued Kraus with a smile, " the only way you young folks are going to end up running my ship is if I'm already dead, so I'll never live to regret my decision."

There were a number of chuckles and polite laughs at the Captain's joke, but Helen was already determined that she and her watch were going to become the prime crew!

When the dinner neared its end, there was a bit of uncomfortable shuffling and looking around among the midshipmen. Helen was confused for a moment and then suddenly realized what was wrong: _They don't know who should make the toast!_ It was a tradition as old as the Navy that at the conclusion of a formal dinner, the junior officer present should make a toast to the sovereign. Unfortunately, there were twenty-five midshipmen in the room, all with exactly the same date on their brevet commission! At the Academy they had their cadet ranks and after graduation, their seniority was determined by their final class ranking, but that was meaningless here. Captain Kraus seemed to have anticipated this problem.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said rising again. "Before we have the toast, I wanted to tell you a little about our coming assignment." He suddenly had everyone's undivided attention. "Tomorrow we shall proceed to the wormhole terminus to join the escort of a convoy." There was a bit of squirming in seats at this; convoy duty was not terribly exciting. "The convoy will proceed to Trevor's Star and from there to Maastricht. At that point we shall be attached to Admiral Sir William Cristen's Task Force 55. As you may have heard, Maastricht is the center of quite a bit of activity these days. I expect we shall be able to show our young ladies and gentlemen a bit of action before their cruise is up."

Many grins met this statement, and even Helen began to feel excited. _Combat! I haven't let myself get my hopes up, but could this really be it? A chance to hit back at the Peeps! A chance for revenge at last?_ All faces were on the Captain, but if anyone had chanced to look at Helen they would have seen her hands clutching the table and a fire in her eyes.

"Now, about that toast," continued Kraus. " I think it would be appropriate if all of our midshipmen-and you too, Ensign Zilwicki-led the toast together. A show of comradeship and solidarity, eh?"

Twenty-six young men and women got to their feet and lifted their glasses.

"To the Queen!" they said together. The other officers rose and responded.

"To the Queen!"

"And confusion to the Peeps!" added Kraus lustily.

_And death to the Peeps!_ added Helen to herself.

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**E**nsign Helen Zilwicki sat down with her tray at an empty table in the Officers' Mess aboard Her Majesty's heavy cruiser_ Relentless._ She picked up the mug of cocoa and took a sip. She wished it was coffee, but she was so over-cafeinated right now, she knew she had better lay off it for a while. She had just come off watch from her secondary assignment in Missile Battery Two. She had four hours to eat, study, check on the other middies, and maybe, just maybe, get an hour or two of sleep before she had to report to Auxiliary Control.

_I guess Commander Constantini was right about the pace after all, _she thought,_ I've put in as many hours at the Academy, but I've never been this tired. Is it just because this is 'for real' that it wears us out more? I know the others are just as tired. And still another three weeks to go!_

It had been two and a half months since Helen and her comrades had come aboard _Relentless_ and they had never been so busy in their lives. But it had also been an exciting and very valuable experience. Helen slowly began to eat and she let her mind wander over the things that had happened.

The convoy escort had turned out to be routine except for the passage of the wormhole. Helen had done a fair amount of hyper travel in her short life, but she had never made a wormhole transit. The fact that she was able to make it sitting at the tactical station of Auxiliary Control had made it even more special.

It was no surprise to anyone that Helen became the Tactical Officer on one of the watches in Auxiliary Control. Even if she had not been the ranking cadet and working with the Executive Officer to set up the watch lists, she would still have been the obvious choice. Helen's grades in the tactics classes and in the simulators were the talk of the Academy and she very quickly gained the confidence of Lieutenant Commander Gerald Hyman who was the officer in command of her watch. She had a natural feel for it and she had studied hard to sharpen her natural skill to a fine edge. A fine killing edge.

Helen had to admit that she _had_ used her influence with the Exec to determine the rest of the people on her watch. Anny Payne was at the helm; Anny had nearly as natural a skill as a pilot as Helen did at gunnery. Alby was the Sensor and Detection officer and Patric was at the Engineering and Damage Control station. She had selected Linda Dover to work with her at Tactical to handle Missile Defense. Linda was not brilliant, but she was _fast_ which is what was needed at that post. Communications was in the hands of Ryan Devlin, Marcy Tarburton was the Navigator and Michael Mullen was at Flight Ops. It was a good team and they had worked hard to really become a team. Their scores in the simulations were the best of the three watches and Commander Constantini had brought their performance to the attention of Captain Kraus. After he had observed them working simulations personally, he had made good on the promise he had made that first night. Helen and her team-under Lt. Commander Hyman's command-would be the primary crew in Auxiliary Control when the ship was at battle stations.

Helen and her team were extremely proud of their accomplishment. They realized that they would probably never get a chance to do much, but it was still a great feeling. The Captain _had_ allowed them to carry out a few routine activities while the bridge crew observed their actions. It was evident that the Captain was pleased with the whole situation because it allowed him to retain Commander Constantini as _his_ Tac officer on the primary bridge watch. The presence of the midshipman also allowed him to actually use the Auxiliary Control. With his otherwise limited manpower he would have had to leave it unoccupied in spite of BuShip's expectations.

After the wormhole transit, they had delivered the convoy safely to Maastricht. Helen had been a little disappointed that they had not gotten a chance to look around at Trevor's Star. The Alliance base in this critical system was nearly as big as what could be found at Manticore. Instead, they had hypered out to Maastricht almost immediately. During the two-week cruise escorting the slow transports, they had run countless simulations and drills. By the time they reached their destination, _Relentless_, including the crew of Auxiliary Control, was ready for action.

And they had seen a good bit of action in the next two months.

Maastricht had been a major Peep naval base before the war. The Alliance had captured the system in the second year of the conflict, during Admiral White Haven's campaign to take Trevor's Star. It was the closest system to the Peep's capital at Haven that the Alliance now held. That should have put Maastricht at the center of action, but it had not. The campaign to take Trevor's Star had dragged on for nearly two more years. After that, the Peeps had doggedly refused to give up Barnett, even though conventional wisdom said it was an untenable position. Barnett was in the opposite direction from Maastricht and the attention of both fleets had been focused there for the next four years. The Peeps had finally given up Barnett less than a year ago, along with a half dozen less important systems and fallen back to a more defensible line of stars closer to Haven. Ten years after the start of the war, and eight years after its capture, Maastricht was finally on the front lines.

The main battle fleets were still licking their wounds after the costly fighting around Barnett, but rumor had it that the Alliance would be starting a new offensive soon. After the surprise Peep counterattack two years earlier, it was not out of the question that the Peeps might try something, too. The famous admirals like White Haven, Kuzak and Harrington were making their plans behind the front lines, and presumably the Peep admirals, Theisman, Giscard and Tourville were doing the same. But until they put their plans into operation, someone had to hold the line. Task Force 55 was just one such holding force, but it was an exceptionally powerful one. Maastricht was the obvious jumping off point for any new offensive. It might not be used for that just because it _was_ so obvious, but it still had to be held by the Alliance, and the Peeps had to keep a close watch on it.

One of the keys to the strategic situation was intelligence gathering. It was vital to keep tabs on where the enemy's strength was concentrated. Both sides had demonstrated on numerous occasions that raids could be mounted from far behind the lines, travel hundreds of light years undetected and strike without warning. There was no way to prevent that sort of thing. Both sides kept large reserve forces protecting their most vital systems to insure that such raids could not do irreparable damage. But raids could not hold territory, that took a major offensive with massive support. The build up for an offensive was hard to hide. Supplies had to be accumulated close to the front along with all the other paraphernalia of a major military operation. A vigilant enemy could detect these build-ups and prepare himself for an attack. That required aggressive scouting by the fleet's light forces.

There were a half dozen Peep held systems within a week's travel of Maastricht and a dozen more not too much further away. All of these had to be patrolled and scouted and probed. There were also hundreds of uninhabited systems that also had to be scouted from time to time to make sure the enemy was not building a secret base or supply dump. The Peeps were just as eager to see what was going on in and around Maastricht. Both sides also wanted to interfere with the others' activity and conceal their own movements. This meant that there was a constant series of skirmishes and small battles going on between the fleets' scouting forces.

Task Force 55, under Admiral Cristen, was a powerful one. There were three full battle squadrons including some of the new _Harrington_ class ships. There were also ten massive orbital fortresses that had been gradually constructed in the years since the system was captured. These, along with the various minefields and other static defenses, could defend the system against any likely attacking force. Cristen had also been given an unusually large screening force of battlecruisers, cruisers, destroyers and the new Light Attack Craft. With these he had to not only protect the extensive mining and industrial activities that took place in Maastricht, but also aggressively probe the nearby enemy held systems. The light forces of Task Force 55 were kept very busy.

In the two and a half months since _HMS Relentless_ had joined the task force, Helen had been involved in two small raids on enemy systems, several scouting operations and endless hours on patrol. They had also helped repel an enemy probe here at Maastricht. Both sides were trying to gather information on the others' strength, but they were also trying to cause damage as well. A lot of orbital industry could be smashed in a raid and each side hoped to take out some enemy warships, too. Lately the Peeps had begun to go after the Manticoran's sensor satellites with the FTL communications system. The Peeps still had not managed to duplicate the Manticoran system which gave them nearly instantaneous sensor data, but they had become adept at locating the satellites when they transmitted. Once located, destroying them was easy. It was just a nuisance, but one that could not be ignored.

The Peeps had also become very good at slipping ships into a system undetected. Any ship coming out of hyperspace within a light month of Maastricht would be detected because of its hyper footprint, but if the intruder did not use his impellers and just built up a small vector with thrusters, after a few weeks it would be impossible for any observer to keep track of them and they could then maneuver on low impeller power undetected. Helen knew the Peeps had ships lurking in the system right now and it did not make her happy. In fact, Helen was not very happy at all.

Yes, _Relentless_ had seen a lot of action, but unfortunately, that was all she had done-_seen it._ So far, they had not fired a shot in anger. They had been on the edge of several fights, but fate had not put them close enough to actually join in. Helen knew that they had played a valuable role in all those engagements and she had watched with great satisfaction as icons representing Peep warships had winked off her tactical display. But it was not the same as blasting the Peeps themselves. Helen knew that even if _Relentless_ had gotten into firing range, she would not have been the one pressing the button. She would not have been killing Peeps herself. It should not have made any difference if _Relentless_ was killing the Peeps or some other ship.

But it did.

Helen wanted to be on the ship that was killing the Peeps. Then, in some small way, she would be directly contributing. She could collect some tiny piece of her revenge.

It also had not helped that there were three other ships with cadets aboard assigned to Task Force 55 and two of them had kills to their credit. Helen had never been concerned about bragging rights, but it still irked her.

She was staring into her half-empty cup of cocoa, only dimly aware that she had finished her meal, when Patric and Alby thumped down at her table.

"Worn out already, Ensign?" said Alby brightly. "If you get tired so easily you should have chosen another line of work."

Helen glared at him, but she smiled in spite of herself. "Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are, Midshipman?"

"Not in the last twenty minutes, but I was recalibrating a sensor array and there wasn't anyone else around."

"So he has to make up for lost time now," said Patric.

"I do have my reputation to uphold, after all," insisted Alby. "And I am a member of the Peerage, what other function do we have but to annoy you peasants?"

"I've been wondering about that myself," said Helen. "You certainly don't do much else in Auxiliary Control."

"Aarg! A touch! I do confess it! I fear I breathe my last!" cried Alby clutching his chest. Helen looked for something on her plate to throw at him, but she seemed to have eaten everything without noticing.

"So what are you reprobates up to?" asked Helen trying to avoid a battle of insults with Alby-one battle she knew she could not win.

"I just finished my watch in Damage Control Central," said Patric. "What a madhouse that is! You know Chief Seaton was right: the POs really do run the ship. The officers give them orders and they just stand there nodding their heads and saying 'yes, sir' and then they go out and do things their own way!"

Helen had observed the same thing in Missile Two. She was not sure if that was a Navy-wide phenomenon or unique to _Relentless_ because they were so short handed. The POs had far more responsibility here than they would have if the ship had its full quota of officers. But there was no denying the fact that everyone, officers and crew alike, were working very hard. Helen was proud that the middies were pulling their weight. She could not imagine how the ship was going to function when they left.

"As for what we are doing right now, we were arguing over whether to sleep or eat, and I won," said Patric proudly, gesturing to their trays.

"To sleep, perchance to dream, perchance to skip my next watch." intoned Alby.

"I'm going to sleep for a month when we get back to the Academy," said Patric, "I never knew you could get this tired."

"It wouldn't be so bad if we would see some real action," said Helen grumpily.

"Don't worry, Helen," said Alby, "you have your whole career ahead of you to kill Peeps."

Helen glanced at him sharply and Patric did so, too, with a startled look on his face. She had never made a secret of her hatred for the Peeps, but her roommates had never really commented on it before either.

"Is it that obvious?" said Helen, not sure if she was amused or angry.

"Uh, well...yeah, I guess it is," said Alby. For the first time Helen could remember, Alby actually looked embarrassed by something he had said. He avoided her eyes for a moment and then looked across the compartment.

"Well, well! There's Midshipman Serrafina Ferraro! She has those three essential qualities I like in a person: Female, cute, and not in my chain of command! If you peons will excuse me..." Alby picked up his tray and headed over to another table.

The two of them watched him go. "Well, I guess there's a first time for everything," said Patric in surprise. Helen said nothing and Patric started eating.

"Is it wrong for me to hate the Peeps, Patric?" she said after a while. Patric looked uncomfortable and was silent for a few seconds.

"I don't know, Helen." he said finally. "I guess you have good reasons to."

"I suppose I do. But there are times when it worries me. There are times when I think maybe I _am_ crazy; times when I'd destroy the whole universe if I could take all the Peeps with me."

"Well, they are the enemy..." said Patric uneasily.

"But you don't really hate them, do you?"

"I hate what they've done, but they have not really hurt me personally they way they have you."

"Anny doesn't hate them either, and she does have reasons, after what they did to Admiral Harrington." said Helen.

"I don't think Anny has ever hated anyone."

"No, I suppose not," smiled Helen. "Where is she anyway?"

"I think she's trying to find a shower with nobody in it," replied Patric, smiling in turn. They both laughed at that. Helen stared at him for a moment.

"You're kind of sweet on her aren't you, Patric?"

"No..." he answered instantly, then he paused and looked at Helen. "Well, yes I guess I am-not that it means anything. Me being her 'male protector' and all."

"That won't last forever," said Helen, trying to gauge her friend's feelings.

"But after graduation who knows where we will all end up? And both the Navy and Grayson have big plans for her. Plans I doubt I fit into."

Helen thought back over the last thirty months. She thought about Anny and Patric.

"What really happened that day? The day Anny almost resigned?" asked Helen.

Patric looked at Helen in surprise, but before he could give any answer at all, the shattering noise of the battle stations alarm howled through the mess hall. A moment later they were dashing down the passage towards Auxiliary Control.

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**A**uxiliary Control was located in the after third of the ship, about as far aft from the ship's center as the bridge was forward from it. Fortunately, it was almost adjacent to the quarters that had been assigned to Helen and her middies. She dashed into the compartment and grabbed her skinsuit out of her locker and began stripping off her uniform. Anny was already there and for once she was paying no attention to her own modesty as she struggled into the skin-tight vacuum suit. She was gone by the time Helen had finished and a few moments later they were all in Auxiliary Control.

They relieved the previous watch and settled into their control stations. Lt. Commander Hyman was there and they looked at the tactical plot to see what was happening. One glance told them that this was not a false alarm.

"Multiple hyper footprints, sir," reported Alby Hinsworth. "At least forty so far, but they are scattered all over the periphery of the hyper limit."

"A raid," said Hyman, "a big one."

"The satellite network should give us more data in a few minutes, sir," said Alby.

A half dozen more contacts appeared on the plot and then data about the size, course and speed of the enemy ships began to show up as the sensor network analyzed their emissions. It seemed like Lt. Commander Hyman's estimation was correct; there were no enemy vessels larger than a battlecruiser and they were scattered in small groups and individually at a number of points around the edge of the hyper limit and further out-system. Clearly, they were insufficient to challenge the capital ships of Admiral Cristen's wall of battle. But they could still do a lot of damage in the outer system. A single battle squadron could have annihilated the entire Peeps force without difficulty, but the dreadnoughts and superdreadnoughts were too slow to catch the lighter Peep vessels. There was also always the chance that the Peeps were trying to lure some of the capital ships away from their fellows as part of some larger attack that might materialize later. No, if the Peeps were going to be driven off, the smaller ships of Task Force 55 were going to be the ones to do it.

Perhaps twenty minutes went by while the higher ups analyzed the Peep's movements, and then orders began to flash out from the flagship. _HMS Relentless_ was officially part of the Twenty-Third Cruiser Squadron, but she had been attached and reattached as needed since reaching Maastricht. Currently she was part of Task Group 55.3.2, which consisted of two battlecruisers, four heavy cruisers, six destroyers and twelve _Shrike_ class Light Attack Craft under the command of Commodore Anthony Daniels. They were cruising just outward of the inner asteroid belt.

Trying to defend, or even patrol, the Maastricht system was quite a chore. It was unusually rich in planets and other debris. There were five rocky inner planets, including the inhabited fourth planet (also called Maastricht) huddling close to the F2 star. The inner asteroid belt separated them from three gas giants, all with large families of moons and ring systems. Then there was a second asteroid belt and two more gas giants. Several other small icy planets orbited at the frigid edge of the system. Both asteroid belts and four of the five gas giants had some sort of mining or industrial activity associated with them. Since everything except the inner belt and the planets sunward of it were outside the hyper limit, the Peeps could hit these lucrative targets with little warning.

As a result, the Alliance light forces were also scattered throughout the system in an attempt to guard the most valuable installations. It was obvious that the Peep ships that had been lurking in the system had gotten fairly accurate information about the Alliance dispositions and relayed it to the raiding force. Most of the incoming ships were headed towards unguarded areas or were trying to pounce on weaker detachments of the garrison.

Helen studied the tactical plot and tried to anticipate Admiral Cristen's likely reaction. _So many variations and options! I can see why a task force needs a big tactical staff!_ She was still pondering possibilities when they got their orders.

Task Group 55.3.2 smoothly accelerated at 520 gravities and angled out for the first of the gas giants. A Peeps force was approaching the installations there. Fortunately, there were already some defending ships in the area, along with some minefields and parasite pods. TG 55.3.2 could not arrive for nearly an hour, but they would be there to backup the defenders.

Time passed and the battle unfolded on the tactical plot. First blood went to the Peeps. Two Erwonese destroyers could not evade three Peep heavy cruisers and were destroyed. Shortly thereafter, a Peep light cruiser was caught by eight LACs that had eluded the notice of the lurkers. The cruiser was wrecked at the cost of a single LAC. A number of mining craft in both belts were destroyed or damaged and dozens more were fleeing for the inner system. Suddenly, more enemy ships appeared on the plot.

"New impeller sources detected!" said Alby excitedly.

Four new icons, well sunward of them, were identified as light cruisers. They each launched a half dozen objects that had to be sensor drones and then darted off at angles to the ecliptic. They were obviously running for the hyper limit. The drones all streaked towards Maastricht and the inner system. It was apparent that this was a major objective of the raid. The cruisers must have been drifting slowly inward for weeks. They were now as close as they dared approach so they launched their drones and were running for their lives. Helen could see two dozen LACs from the main fleet suddenly light up their drives and head out for the incoming drones. Unfortunately, it seemed likely that the drones would get a good sensor scan of Admiral Cristen's wall and the installations around Maastricht before they could be destroyed.

"Score one for the Peeps, I'm afraid," murmured Lt. Commander Hyman. Helen was impressed by the planning and coordination the Peeps had managed on this operation. The days when the Peeps could be counted on to make clumsy errors were long gone.

More time passed and they began decelerating towards the gas giant. The approaching Peep force hit the defenders and was repulsed with losses. They were not expecting the missile pods orbiting among the gas giant's moons and a heavy cruiser and a destroyer paid the price. They did manage to destroy an orbital ore processor, but the remaining Peeps retreated away from TG 55.3.2. The Manticorans resumed accelerating to pursue, but it seemed likely the Peeps would get outside the gas giant's hyper limit before they could close to missile range.

_We're going to miss out on it again!_ fumed Helen silently. _All these targets and we can't get close to any of them!_

"Signal from flag, sir," reported Midshipman Ryan Devlin. Even though the bridge was in control of the ship and Captain Kraus was in command, not Lt. Commander Hyman, Auxiliary Control operated as if they were controlling the ship. All incoming messages and data were treated as if they were meant for them. None of their controls were activated, but they were ready to take over instantly if the bridge should be knocked out.

"Message as follows: '_Relentless_ and LACs 1023, 1159 and 1088, proceed to Purbach at best speed. LACs to stay in _Relentless'_ impeller shadow. Enemy destroyer attacking mining operation on Purbach-F. Engage and destroy if possible. Remainder of TG 55.3.2, pursue current target, Commodore T. Daniels, out.' end of message, sir."

_Well, we'll never catch those bastards in front of us; maybe we can sneak up on a destroyer, _thought Helen. Purbach was the fourth gas giant out from the star and at the moment far from any of the actions currently going on in the system. There was not much there worth attacking or defending. Helen looked at the plot and saw that the moon mentioned in the message, Purbach-F, was on the far side of the gas giant at the moment. Obviously Commodore Daniels was hoping that no one would notice the three LACs accompanying _Relentless_ and perhaps the DD would not flee soon enough and the three LACs could run it down. With the sophisticated stealth systems the ships possessed, it might be possible to make their four impeller signatures look like just one cruiser. It was a long shot, and just a tiny part of a minor battle. As Helen watched, the three LACs moved in as close to _Relentless_ as they safely could and then the quartet changed course and headed outward at 550 gravities.

"Estimated time to Purbach, Ms. Tarburton?" asked Hyman. Marcy Tarburton consulted her panel.

"Three hours, twelve minutes assuming we turnover for a zero velocity arrival, sir," said the young woman.

"Make it three hours then, the Captain will want to have some velocity left on us when we get there. I guess we can relax for a while, people. Mr. Devlin, will you see if we can get some more coffee in here?"

The time ticked slowly away. Helen watched the tactical plot and could see that the battle was winding down. Most of the Peeps had already hypered out and the rest would surely do so soon. Only one running fight was in progress on the opposite side of the solar system. TG 55.3.2's target had escaped without further damage and Commodore Daniels had sent another destroyer after _Relentless, _but it would take a number of hours to catch up with them. The battle had been pretty much a draw. The Peeps had lost a few more ships, but they had done a fair amount of other damage, and gotten the sensor readings they were after. She took another sip of coffee and tried to stay alert.

An hour passed and they were decelerating towards Purbach and Helen started to get worried. _Where is that DD?_ she wondered._ They must know we are coming and even if they don't know about the LACs they would have to be crazy to stick around._ The mining operation had gone silent over two hours ago. The miners were probably safe underground, but the topside installations had no doubt been smashed. The Peep had also killed two sensor satellites in the area and then disappeared among the moons and rings of the gas giant. _He may be on a course that keeps the planet between him and us. At a low acceleration he might be able to escape detection by one of the other ships or satellites, but why bother? Purbach only has a hyper limit of about two light minutes; he could have hypered out a long time ago. _ The only thing that Helen could think of was that the Peep was hoping to become a lurker and did not want to leave.

Twenty minutes later _Relentless_ and her consorts passed the orbit of Purbach's outermost moon. They were down to under a hundred kilometers per second and curved slowly around the giant planet. The coffee cups had been put away and everyone was tensely looking at their consoles. Captain Kraus launched two drones to expand his sensor envelope. He could have used the LACs but he probably wanted to keep them as his hole card. _Relentless_ and the drones slid around Purbach on three different vectors, each searching for a foe who might not even be there. The cruiserskirted under the planet's impressive rings. A ship could hide in them-if it were lucky. Minutes went by and they would soon have a line of sight on the moon with the mining operation.

"Contact!" shouted Alby. "Impeller source at one-five-nine, mark one-six! Range four point two light seconds!" Every eye jumped to the tactical plot where a new red icon had appeared. It was the destroyer all right and she was fleeing at maximum acceleration. The Peep, either by good planning or good luck, had put the planet's ring between himself and _Relentless._ It would not have stopped energy weapons but they were far out of energy range. It was easy range for missiles, but they would be unlikely to survive a flight through that disk of ice and pebbles. They would have to get around the edge of the ring before they could fire. Even so, they would get a clear shot on the Peep once they did and he was deep inside their missile envelope.

The Peep had not counted on the LACs, either. Captain Kraus took them off their leash and they leapt after the fleeing destroyer like hounds on a fresh scent. The LACs had a hundred gee advantage over _Relentless_ and nearly seventy-five on the destroyer. It took them only ninety seconds to clear the ring-and _Relentless_ was right behind.

Helen watched her targeting plot; the forward pair of missile tubes were ready to fire as soon as they had a clear shot. Her hand was poised over the firing key even though her board was not active. The planet's rings were suddenly behind them and a pair of missiles spat from the cruiser's bow tubes. Helen took a deep breath. _We've done it! I've done it! I've hit back at the Peeps!_ The feeling could not be described by any words Helen possessed.

Helen watched their two missiles on the plot and she realized it was only a gesture: the Peep was already doomed. The three LACs had salvoed off a dozen missiles apiece from their rotary launchers as soon as they had a clear shot. Even now they were entering attack range on the destroyer. The range was too short for decoys or electronic countermeasures to do much good against the superior Manticoran seeking systems. Counter-missiles destroyed four of the missiles and point defense laser clusters killed a half dozen more, but the remaining twenty-six all got through. Despite frantic maneuvering on the part of the Peep, they blew the destroyer into a ball of plasma as X-ray lasers tore through the ship's fusion reactor. _Die! You bastards!_ thought Helen savagely.

But the Peep did not die alone.

Helen had to admire the courage of the Peep skipper. When the LACs had come after him he knew he could not escape so he had turned and fired a double broadside of missiles back at his executioners. One of them scored a hit and the lightly armored LAC 1159 had vanished in flash of light.

"Damn!" exclaimed Hyman. "I thought we had him clean!"

The mood in Auxiliary Control was dampened slightly from a moment before, but even the death of ten of their comrades could not overshadow the fact that they had helped destroy an enemy ship. _There were almost three hundred Peeps on that destroyer_, thought Helen, _not a bad exchange for ten of us._

The ship's communicator demanded their attention: "This is the Captain. Well done people! Well done indeed! _Relentless_ gets an assist on that one! A fine job, and my compliments to you all. I'm sending the LACs ahead to look for survivors. The rest of us should keep our eyes open, there may be more of them around."

The Captain clicked off and there was a ragged round of applause in the compartment. Helen was not concerned about any Peep survivors, but even she had to admit it was the right thing to do. The middies and Lt. Commander Hyman were congratulating themselves, but Helen stared at her plot and frowned. Something was nagging at the back of her mind.

_Why had the Peep stayed? It makes no sense at all... unless there __are__ more of them around! An ambush? But where?_ She looked at the tactical display on her own board and started drawing in vectors. _The Peep was headed this way. If the LACs had not been with us, it would have taken a lot longer for us to kill him, so we would have gone like that..._ Helen saw that their vector was taking them towards one of Purbach's outer moons, they would be only a few hundred thousand kilometers from it in another minute. The LACs were already almost there. Helen quickly looked to see where their two sensor drones were. She wanted to get a scan of the moon's opposite side, but the drones had never been recalled when the action started. They were far away by now and still accelerating. She looked at the moon again on her plot. _There! If they are here at all, that's where they are!_

"Commander Hyman..." said Helen with sudden urgency in her voice, but an alarm buzzer cut her off.

"New contact!" shouted Alby.

LACs 1023 and 1088 suddenly vanished from Helen's tactical display as their killer emerged from the sensor shadow of the moon.

"Enemy ship bearing three-one-five, mark two-seven!" blurted Alby, "range two-hundred thousand kilometers!"

"Changing course to port!" cried Anny, relaying the action the bridge was taking

.

"Starboard batteries locking on target!" reported Helen.

"Target reads as a _Scimitar_ class heavy cruiser," said Alby, trying to keep his voice calm.

There had indeed been an ambush. The Peep heavy cruiser had drifted in from out-system weeks beforehand and was waiting to use the destroyer as bait. It was just a tiny part of the Peep's operation, but they had caught more than they bargained for. The Manticoran LACs had forced the Peeps to spring the ambush early, and now two old heavy cruisers squared off at what amounted to point-blank range. They opened fire almost simultaneously. Their missiles would take over twenty seconds to reach attack range, but their lasers and grasers leapt the distance between them in two-thirds of a second.

"Starboard batteries firing!" said Helen, but her words were only half out of her mouth when _Relentless_ shook with the impact of the enemy's weapons. Admiral Thayer had once told Helen that a ship always made a strange noise when it took a hit and that no two ships sounded quite alike. Now she heard what _Relentless_ sounded like when she was in pain. Again and again and again.

"Multiple hits on starboard side!" said Patric, frantically scanning the rapidly growing list of damage and trying to decide which to report first.

"Counter-missiles going out, point defense on automatic!" said Linda Dover at Helen's side as _Relentless_ tried to knock down the incoming Peep missiles.

The ship continued to shake and groan as the enemy took bites out of her, but the enemy was being hurt, too.

"Weapons are on target!" cried Alby. "Target is spilling air and debris!"

The ships' sidewalls deflected some of the damage and reduced its effect, but at this range nothing could stop it completely. Armor plate and battle steel blew into deadly fragments, air gushed out into space, and men and women died.

"Hits on nodes B3 and A6; radar-two destroyed; hit on boat bay one; sidewall generator twelve damaged..." Patric was reading off his litany of destruction like an automaton.

Helen clung to her console as the ship rocked around her. She was thrown against the shock frame of her chair and she automatically grabbed her helmet off its rack and fastened it on. But she never took her eyes off her weapons display. They were firing and firing again, but there were fewer of them every moment. Lasers, grasers and missile tubes were being wiped away by the enemy fire. Weapon after weapon blinked from green to red on her board. That the enemy fire was slackening, too proved that they were hurting him just as badly.

_The Captain's going to have to roll the ship soon to bring the port batteries to bear,_ thought Helen calmly, _Take some of the Peep's fire on our wedge and then give him a fresh broadside!_

But the Captain did not roll the ship. Seconds crawled by and the ship shook again and again.

An alarm sounded and Patric shouted: "Fusion Two is in emergency shutdown!"

_Relentless_ had lost half her power, but Fusion One took up the load without a pause. Over half the starboard broadside was out of action now. _What's he waiting for? Roll the ship! Do it now!_

The ship seemed to lurch sideways; the lights flickered for an instant and a new alarm sounded.

"Hit on Power Room One!" said Patric in near panic. "Main and secondary power feeds are down!

"We're losing the wedge!" said Anny in a shrill voice. "Sidewalls are coming down!" The ship shook again, but more violently than before. The ship was naked to the enemy fire.

_Oh my God! We're finished!_ thought Helen numbly. _Without the sidewalls, we haven't got a chance!_ For an insane, totally incongruous instant Helen remembered that she had never answered her father's last letter.

Then Alby gave a whoop: "Target is gone from gravitics! They've lost their wedge, too!" Nine hearts suddenly started beating again, the odds were still even.

But Helen looked at her board in growing desperation. Less than half the starboard weapons were still in action, and they were now operating from their emergency capacitors. A few shots and they would be done. _We have to roll now!_

The ship twitched again, and a light at the top of her display turned from red to green and a chime sounded that was almost lost in the noise around her. She looked at it incredulously for an instant.

"My board is hot!" she cried. "We have control!"

She looked at Lt. Commander Hyman for orders, but his face had gone paper white.

"Captain Kraus, come in please," he said into his com in growing panic. "Commander Constantini, report. Bridge! Respond!"

_We don't have time for this!_ Helen thought frantically. _If the Peep rolls first he'll finish us! I'm the Tactical Officer now, we have to act!_

"Helm, roll ship 180 degrees starboard!" said Ensign Helen Zilwicki in a voice that cut through the noise. Anny Payne looked at Helen with wide eyes that flicked to Hyman and back to her.

"Anny, do it!" said Helen.

Anny Payne's hands flew over her console. "Aye, ma'am, ship rolling to starboard!"

Helen's eyes were glued to her board. It would take fifteen seconds for the thrusters to complete the roll. _Is the Peep rolling already?_ The ship shuddered from another hit, but that could have been from a missile already in flight.

Fifteen seconds…

Time slowed to a crawl. Helen was focused as she had never been before. An incredible energy seemed to fill her. It was as if her entire life had been leading to this moment.

Fourteen…thirteen…

There was no time for anything fancy; she set all the weapons to fire as soon as they bore.

"Tactical, bring the port batteries to bear!" said someone with Lt. Commander Hyman's voice.

"I'm on it, sir!" said Helen without noticing.

Eleven…ten…

She finished the firing instructions and a red light flashed on her board. Her heart leapt into her throat as she looked at the warning light. Her hand slapped a switch and the light went out.

"Missile tubes set for sequential fire!"

Eight…seven…

_Come on! Come on!_ Every instant Helen expected the ship to explode around her with the Peep's undamaged broadside, but the seconds continued to tick away.

Six…five…

Helen's hand was over the firing key. The computer should fire automatically, but she was taking no chances. Her com was open to all the battery commanders.

Four…three…

"Standby!"

Two…one…

"All batteries... _FIRE!_" and she pushed the key with all her strength.

_HMS Relentless_ was already a wreck by anyone's standards, but her builders had given her a great heart, and the men and women who crewed her had more soul than anyone knew. The energy weapons in her port broadside hurled death at her tormentor and the missile tubes fired their loads at half-second intervals with recoils that shook the whole ship.

_Wham! Wham! Wham!_

Without the inertial compensator, the powerful mass drivers had a tremendous recoil. If they had all fired simultaneously, the ship and her crew might have taken serious damage.

_Wham! Wham! Wham! _

Helen was jolted in her seat by each discharge. The pounding seemed to match her pounding heart. It was like she was pumping out her hate. Pumping it down her arm to the fingers on the firing key. Pumping it through the ship's controls to the weapons batteries. Pumping it through beams of coherent hell into her enemy. _And Peeps are dying!_ Her face was contorted in an animal snarl.

"Weapons are on target!" shouted Alby, getting reports from his sensors.

"Maintain fire!" said Hyman.

"Continuous fire on all weapons, aye, sir!" replied Helen, still oblivious to everything but the target on her board.

"Pour it into them, 'Guns'!" whooped Patric. The other people in the compartment began to cheer as well.

Helen stared at her display. Yes, she was pouring it into them, but not for much longer. The missile tubes hammered out another salvo and then went silent, their capacitors exhausted. Even as she watched, the power-hungry grasers flashed from green to red on her board. The lasers had another shot or two and they would run dry as well. But the Peep must have been smashed, he had only gotten off a single laser shot and a half dozen missiles. Point defense was engaging them. With a little luck...

The ship lurched again.

"Hit on Power Room One!" shouted Patric. "Fusion One is..."

A tremendous blow rocked the ship. It made what had come before seem like love-taps. Helen was slammed against her shock frame, and the lights went out.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**T**he lights came back on in Auxiliary Control. Helen never did find out if they had actually gone off or if she herself had blacked out for a moment. There was pain in her shoulders where she had been thrown against the shock frame and her neck hurt, too. She looked around the compartment and saw the others shaking their heads and dazedly trying to figure out what had happened.

"All stations report," said Lt. Commander Hyman, just as dazed as the rest of them.

Helen looked at her board. She was still getting readouts from some of her weapons, but the targeting display was blank. She reported as much to Hyman.

"I'm blind here," said Alby. "No readings from any of the sensors, sir."

"Damage Control, what's happening?" demanded Hyman.

Patric shook his head again. "I'm not sure, sir. I'm not getting any readings from forward at all I...I think Fusion One may have blown."

There was a moment of stunned silence. If the containment field of a fusion plant failed catastrophically, it would be like setting off a nuke inside the ship. Fusion one was in the forward hammerhead. If it had blown...

"Sir, we are tumbling," reported Anny. "Spinning in all three axes. The "Y" axis is worst, sir, almost two revolutions per minute." The ship was tumbling end over end and fast enough to create a formidable artificial gravity at the extreme ends of the ship. Now that she was aware of it, Helen could actually feel herself being pulled slightly by the centrifugal forces. But she was being pulled _forward_. That meant that the ship's center of gravity was now _behind_ Auxiliary Control, but that could only be true if... a chill went down Helen's spine.

The same thought had obviously occurred to Lt. Commander Hyman. He bit his lip and stared for a moment. "Ms. Payne, can you stabilize the ship?" he asked at last.

"I'll try, sir, but most of the thrusters are not responding. It will take a minute for me to figure this out, sir."

"Do your best, Anny," said Hyman.

"Sir, I have no direct communications," reported Ryan Devlin. "The FTL system is out and so are my other transmitters. I'm picking up some chatter from the Task Force but it's just routine. Should I activate the disaster beacon?"

Gerald Hyman was having too much thrown at him at once, but he was coping with it as well as could be expected. He thought for a minute. "Yes, go ahead."

"Aye, sir, activating disaster beacon."

_Relentless_ was now broadcasting a signal that told anyone listening that she had suffered major damage and was in need of assistance. At the distance they were from their friends it would take quite a while for anyone to receive the signal, but it should not have been necessary anyway. Every ship in the task force would have seen their impeller signature drop off the gravitic sensors-there would be only one reason for that to happen. Help was probably on the way already.

"Sir, I have Lieutenant Gallagher in Secondary Damage Control," reported Patric.

"Don! What the hell is going on down there?" said Hyman into his com.

"That you, Gerry?" came the reply. "I think Fusion One cut loose, but that's about all I can tell you right now. We've got a hell of a spin on the ship. I can't send repair parties anywhere the grav plates are out. Can you get the ship under control?"

"Ms. Payne, how's that coming?" said Hyman to Anny.

"Standby, sir, I think I can get it. Yes! Thrusters activated, we should be stable in a few minutes." Anny looked up with a satisfied gleam in her eye and exchanged nods with Helen.

"Well done, Anny," said Hyman. "Hang on Don, we should have the spin off in a couple of minutes. Once you can move around, I need reports ASAP."

There was a short pause. "Am I reporting to you now, Gerry?" said Gallagher slowly.

"I think so, Don," answered Hyman. "We lost contact with the bridge even before the big hit. I guess I'm in command now."

"Okay, Skipper. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Other reports started coming in. The main sickbay, which was about forty meters forward from Auxiliary Control, had taken some damage but was basically intact. Fortunately, the fighting had happened so quickly that no wounded had even been brought there when the damage took place. They were starting to pour in now, however. Power Room Two was heavily damaged and the fusion plant was a total loss. That meant there was no hope of getting the impellers back up, but they had plenty of battery power to run the environmental plant and most of the smaller ship systems. Both boat bays had been hit but the extent of the damage had not yet been determined. Helen could feel the effects of the tumbling slowly die away as the ship stabilized. After about ten minutes Lieutenant Gallagher called back and his voice was grim.

"Gerry, I've got Chief Skoronski on the line. He's got a report... I'll patch him through."

At first they thought the com connection was breaking up but then they realized it was actually the chief's voice. "I...I'm at frame ninety-four... I can't get any further forward...oh God, there's nothin' left...I'm looking out into space. The whole bow section is just gone..."

Helen closed her eyes. Everything they had learned so far had warned them that this was probably the case, but it was still hard to take. They had hoped that there would be something left-something that could hold some survivors. _The bridge is gone; Captain Kraus is dead..._ With a sudden, horrible shock Helen realized that Commander Paula Constantini was dead, too. _If it wasn't for us-for me-she might have been in Auxiliary Control! And I would have been forward in Missile Two._ Helen felt a terrible guilt but it quickly turned to anger. _The Peeps have killed another person I care about!_ Helen clutched her console and tried to fight down the rage building up inside her.

After a moment she looked around the compartment. Everyone else was locked in their own thoughts. Helen looked at the faces of her middies and she saw tears on a few of them. Suddenly a new thought struck her. _Oh my God! What about the others?_ She knew it was selfish to only worry about her midshipmen when several hundred other crewmen had just died as well, but she couldn't help it. Her mind started running down a list of who was in the forward part of the ship. _Bob Hall was in the forward impeller room; Gerhard Frisch in Missile One; Marjie Barbarie in ..._ she wrenched her mind away, she could mourn the dead later!

Gerry Hyman shook his head. "Thank you, Chief. Don, we're blind up here, we need to get some sensors back on line as soon as possible."

"Okay, Gerry," answered Gallagher, "I'll see what we can do."

"Ms. Zilwicki," Hyman said, turning to Helen, "I think we can assume that the Peep was hit pretty hard or he would have killed us by now. Even so, we have to be ready. Assuming we can get some sensors back, what is the situation with the weapons?"

"Not very good, sir," admitted Helen, glad to have something to distract her from her previous thoughts. "The port batteries have all run their capacitors. I'm sorry, sir, if I'd been thinking I would have held something back.

"

Hyman snorted. "Helen, you were the only one here who _was_ thinking. By the way, that was a hell of a job and I'm grateful."

"Thank you, sir," said Helen, blushing. "There are some charged capacitors and undamaged weapons on the starboard side, but unfortunately none of them are connected to each other. The closest pair would be laser four and the capacitor for graser six. If we can get a repair party in there maybe we can cross-connect them."

"What about the stern chase armament?"

"They are all showing red on my board, sir. We took some hits back there during the first exchange. I don't know if any of them can be made operable."

Hyman nodded his head, and then he turned to Linda Dover and stopped. Helen turned to look, too and noticed for the first time that Linda had blood dripping down the side of her head.

"Are you all right, Linda?" Hyman asked.

"I'm fine, sir, just bumped my head a bit when...when...I'm fine, sir," repeated Dover. "I've got six laser clusters that are reporting as operational, but without sensors to aim them..." she trailed off.

"And the counter-missiles?" asked Hyman.

Linda shook her head and then grimaced.

"Sir, when Fusion One blew it must have played hell in the magazines," interjected Helen. "I'm getting reports from some of the ammo handlers that they've got missiles broken loose from their racks all over the place down there. There are smashed missiles blocking the hoists and the feed tubes. The counter-missiles are probably just as bad."

"I see," said Hyman. "Well, contact Lieutenant Gallagher about laser four and that capacitor and see if he can get someone over there."

Before Helen could do so, Gallagher was back on the com.

"Gerry, I've got some remotes out on the hull now and it doesn't look too good on the sensors. The blast must have sheared off everything sticking out on the main hull. I've got one array, radar fourteen, that looks intact from the outside."

Alby Hinsworth's head jerked up suddenly. "That's on the aft hammerhead, sir. It's reading dead on my display, but maybe it's just the connection that's severed."

"Don, can you get a party back there to have a look?" asked Hyman.

"I don't know, Gerry," Gallagher sounded desperate. "We... Gerry, we had over half our repair teams headed for the forward power room to try and reconnect those feeds when it blew...two-thirds of my repair parties haven't reported in. Most of the rest are trying to dig people out of the wreckage."

Gerry Hyman nodded his head. An awful lot of good people had died today. "I'm sorry, Don, can you find anyone at all, it's important."

"I've got half a dozen ratings here, but none of them are qualified for that sort of work, and I've got nobody to lead them," said Gallagher.

"Sir! I can go!" said Alby suddenly. Hyman turned to look at him and Alby continued. "I was just recalibrating that array yester... gosh, it was only a few hours ago! I know where it is, sir."

Hyman thought for a moment. "All right, Mr. Hinsworth, report to SDC and collect those ratings and whatever tools you'll need. Ms. Tarburton, you go with him, I'm afraid you won't be doing much more navigation for a while."

The two midshipmen got out of their chairs and headed out of the compartment. Alby gave Helen a wink as he passed. Helen shook her head in wonder and smiled. _To think that just six months ago Alby would not volunteer or stick his neck out for anyone-what a change!_

Hyman sat back in his chair and thought for a while. Patric continued to monitor the reports from SDC, but the rest of them had nothing they could really do. They waited.

_What is the Peep doing?_ wondered Helen, _We must have hit him very hard, maybe even destroyed him, but if he's still out there, what's he up to?_

The waiting was getting to all of them. Lt. Commander Hyman asked Ryan Devlin if he was picking up anything over the radio concerning them, even though he must have known the answer.

"No, sir, even if they broadcast something as soon as we went off gravitics, it will still be a few minutes before the signal could reach us." Hyman just nodded his head.

Another ten minutes went by and then they got a call from Midshipman Tarburton. "Sir, we think we've found the break in the connection with the sensor array," she reported to Hyman. "The bulkhead is all smashed in and we're in vacuum here. We're trying to bridge the gap in the line, but the only way through is almost completely blocked. Midshipman Hinsworth is trying to get at it."

Helen could suddenly picture what was going on. Alby Hinsworth was one of the smallest cadets at the Academy. He was trying to worm his way through some gap in the wreckage that none of the others could fit through, trailing a fiber-optic cable behind him. She just hoped he didn't get stuck or tear his skinsuit on some sharp bit of debris. Minutes passed, then suddenly Alby was on the com.

"Commander Hyman, I've reached the junction box for the array-seems like I was just here. I'm about to patch in the new cable...here goes." There was a pause and then Helen's tactical display suddenly came to life.

"You did it, Alby! You did it!" she cried.

"Well done, Mr. Hinsworth," said Hyman. "You can come back here now if you are finished."

"Thank you, sir," replied Alby, "But I think I'm stuck. Maybe I'll just wait here for a while." Helen, Anny and Patric exchanged worried glances.

"All right, Mr. Hinsworth, we'll get you out," said Hyman. "Ms. Tarburton, get some cutting equipment and see if you can free Mr. Hinsworth."

"That's okay, Marcy," said Alby, "I was wanting an excuse to take a nap anyway. Take your time and I'll be right here."

Helen grinned at her friends and then turned to her tactical display. The grin froze on her face.

The Peep was still there.

"Sir, take a look at this," she said, switching her display to the main readout.

Hyman looked at the red icon glowing on the screen. "Well, he's about where he was before, what do you think, Ms. Zilwicki?"

"The radar return is fluctuating a bit, sir," answered Helen. "He may be tumbling the way we were. I'm picking up returns from a lot of debris, too. The range is a little over a hundred thousand klicks."

They continued to study the display and then Helen began to tap in numbers on her console. When she finished they looked at the projected course of their ship and the enemy.

"Damn," muttered Hyman.

The two ships had been on nearly parallel courses at nearly the same speed when they wrecked each other. But the courses were not quite parallel. The plot showed that the enemy ship would pass across _Relentless'_ stern in just over two and a half hours at a distance of less than four thousand kilometers. At that range, even without active sensors, the enemy could fire using the last-ditch optical sights on their weapons. If the Peeps had anything left to throw at them, there would be very little chance for _Relentless_ to stop them. Against an unshielded and defenseless ship, even a counter-missile would be enough to tear them to pieces with its impeller wedge.

"Are you picking anything up from the Peep?" asked Hyman.

"No, sir," replied Helen. "No active sensors, no communications, no disaster beacon, but if they have passive sensors they know where we are now."

Hyman turned to the others in the compartment. "All right, people, we need some ideas. Any possible help won't arrive until after our closest approach to the enemy. What kind of a threat does the Peep represent and how do we neutralize him?"

"Sir," said Linda Dover, "launched from four thousand kilometers, a missile or counter-missile would hit us in less than three seconds. Point defense _might_ be able to stop one missile, but I wouldn't want to stake our lives on it." Her face looked very pale compared to the dried blood on the side of her head, but her voice was strong and steady.

"Wouldn't they just surrender?" asked Midshipman Michael Mullan. As head of Flight Ops, Mullan had virtually nothing to do so far. "I mean, they have to know their situation is hopeless."

"Maybe, but all it takes is one People's Commissioner with a martyr complex and we could be in trouble." said Helen with a look of distaste.

"I agree," said Hyman, "and in any case we have to assume they will not surrender."

"Then I guess we have to get them before they can get us," said Anny Payne.

"But how?" asked Patric. "The only thing that can take them out with one shot is a missile or counter-missile. Even if we get that laser operational all we can do is punch a couple more holes in them-that's not likely to do fatal damage."

"Are there any drones or decoys operational?" asked Ryan Devlin. "Anything with an impeller that we can crash into them would do the job at this point."

Patric shook his head. "The decoy bays have been smashed. The drones are stored in the magazines and you heard what kind of shape they are in."

"What about the two we launched earlier?" asked Hyman.

"Sorry, sir, they were never recalled and they've been accelerating steadily away from us since they were launched," said Helen. "Even if we could contact them and turn them around, their drives would be burned out before they could get here."

"Mr. Mullan, what's the situation with our small craft?"

"Not good, sir," answered Michael Mullan. "Both boat bays took hits. The reports I'm getting are that the ordnance stored in both of the marines' pinnaces blew and that took out everything else. All that we have left are emergency shuttles three and four."

Hyman pondered that. Several dozen escape pods were located around the ship for use in a disaster. They were little more than airtight containers with life support and supplies. The ship was also provided with four emergency shuttles. If the ship were crippled far from help, the shuttles were to be used to round up the escape pods and possibly tow them to a habitable planet. The shuttles were small and simple and they relied on thrusters rather than impellers. Two were stored in each hammerhead of the ship and the two in _Relentless'_ stern seemed to have survived.

"Could we rig one of them with a remote control and use it as an impact weapon?" asked Helen.

"I doubt it, Ma'am, the shuttles are not set up for remote control," said Mullan. "I mean, it could certainly be done, but we'd have to build the remote control almost from scratch. I don't think we have time for that."

Helen thought for a while. "Sir, that laser can only punch a few more holes, just as Mr. McDermott has said, but if we knew where to punch them it would certainly be a help."

"What do you mean, Helen?"

"Well, sir, if we sent someone out in one of those shuttles to have a close look at the Peep, they could relay targeting information and maybe we could hit them where it hurts."

Hyman pursed his lips and frowned. "If the Peep has any point defense, hell, any weapons at all, that could be suicide for whoever was in the shuttle."

"Those shuttles would be almost invisible to passive sensors, sir. We should be able to sneak right up on them."

"Unless somebody looks out a viewport," said Patric.

"I don't know," said Hyman. "Even if we managed it, I don't know if two or three laser shots would be enough to disable every weapon that could potentially be active."

"It's a shame all the marines' ordnance went up," said Patric, "we could build a big bomb and send it over there."

"What about taking a warhead off a missile and doing the same thing?" asked Ryan Devlin eagerly.

Helen shook her head. "It would take more time than we have to get a nuke off one of the missiles and get it out to the shuttle. The magazines are an incredible mess right now."

Anny Payne had been frowning for a few moments. Now she looked up and said: "We can't send the marines' ordnance, but what about sending the marines?"

There was a long silence.

"You mean a _boarding_ party, Ms. Payne?" asked Hyman incredulously.

"Why not, sir?" said Helen suddenly jumping in. "The Peeps would never expect it and they always have a very small contingent of marines anyway. We could seize the ship and make sure they can't make trouble for _Relentless!_"

Hyman just stared for a moment, but the idea seemed to take hold and generate its own enthusiasm. To board and capture an enemy ship! After five thousand years it was still the ultimate symbol of naval victory. Hyman made a few half-hearted attempts to discourage his eager midshipmen and then gave in.

"All right, let's find out what we have left in the way of marines." He got on the com. "Lieutenant McCloskey, come in please.

Silence. "Lieutenant Herwitt, this is Auxiliary Control, please report." A few moments passed and then there was a response.

"Sir, this is Med-tech Kienost. Lt. Herwitt is here in Sick Bay, he is in pretty bad shape, sir."

"Sergeant Philbin, are you there?" said Hyman in increasing dismay, but there was no answer. "Any marine NCO please report!"

A few minutes later they concluded that there were twenty-six uninjured marines left on board and they were being led by two corporals. None of them were qualified to pilot the shuttles.

"The shuttles can hold fifteen normally, I would say maybe a dozen marines with their gear might fit in," said Hyman, who was losing his enthusiasm for the project. "We need somebody to pilot them and somebody to lead those marines."

"I'll go," said Helen without hesitation. "There's nothing for me to do here anyway, sir. Any of you could fire that laser."

"Ms. Zilwicki, with all due respect, this is hardly the situation for a raw cadet!" said Hyman.

"Who better, sir? If it is a suicide mission, we're more expendable than anyone else."

"No one's expendable, Ms. Zilwicki! I've seen quite enough people expended today!" Hyman turned away. Helen could see that the pressure was starting to get to Gerald Hyman. He was not that much older than the midshipmen and the awful responsibility of command was weighing him down. After a few moments he started checking on the com for other officers that could lead the boarding party. It did not take him long to discover that the only officers on board _HMS Relentless_ who were uninjured and not involved in some vital repair activity were sitting with him in Auxiliary Control. Hyman sat scowling for a few long minutes and then turned to Helen.

"All right, it is against my better judgment, but, Ms. Zilwicki, you've got the job. Who do you want in the other shuttle?"

Helen looked at the other midshipmen. There was only one logical choice, but she did not want to say it.

Anny Payne saved her the trouble. "I'll go too," she said simply.

Patric McDermott was on his feet in a second. "No! Sir, I should go," he said with alarm in his voice.

"Mr. McDermott, I need you to monitor Damage Control. I'm afraid Ms. Payne is correct. We have no need for a helmsman under these circumstances. She and Ms. Zilwicki are the most easily spared of any of you."

"But..." said Patric, helplessly staring at Anny.

Anny smiled at him. "It will be all right, Patric. It was my idea after all."

Patric sank back into his seat with an utterly forlorn look on his face. Helen turned away. _I can see why they don't allow people working together to get romantically involved-poor Patric!_

"Okay, people, if this is going to do any good we've got to do it fast," said Hyman. "All marines report to Auxiliary Control. Bring any extra weapons or equipment you can find."

"Away all boarders!" came Alby Hinsworth's voice over the com. Helen had not known he had been listening in. "Cutlasses for all hands! Wish I was going with you!"

It took about ten minutes, but they had all their marines assembled in the corridor outside the control room. Lt. Commander Hyman divided them into two eleven-man squads under Corporal Greene and Corporal Lafferty. They did not have a lot of equipment. Most of their heavy weapons were stored in the pinnaces or in the 'morgue' along with their suits of battle armor. Unfortunately, the 'morgue' had taken a direct hit. The marines mostly carried the standard pulser rifles, but there was one tri-barrel, a few grenades and a couple of flechette guns as well. Helen and Anny buckled on pistol belts and Helen took one of the spare flechette guns. She cradled the deadly close quarters weapon in her arms and thought fondly of what it could do to a Peep. She noticed Anny Payne had picked up a plasma carbine.

"You sure you want to take that thing, Anny?" asked Helen.

"Sure!" said Anny brightly. "They make such a neat noise when you fire them!" Her smile faded when she saw Patric looking at her. She went over to him, raised the visor on her helmet and stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. Helen could not hear what she said to him.

Lt. Commander Hyman came over to Helen. "Ensign, I want to be sure you understand your orders," he said. "You are to take the two shuttles and rendezvous with the enemy ship. You will make a visual inspection of its condition. If you think that we can disable its remaining weaponry with shots from laser four-assuming we can get it operational-you will illuminate the target area with your com-laser. If that is not possible, I will, if I think fit, give you permission to board. At that point you will have to operate on your own initiative. Disable the operational weapons or secure the whole ship as you think best and the circumstances allow." Hyman looked into Helen's eyes and offered her his hand. Helen took it and they shook solemnly. "Be careful, Helen. We've lost enough people for one day."

"Aye aye, sir. We'll do our best." Helen let go of Hyman's hand, saluted, and started her people down the passageway towards the shuttle bays.

Once they had left the comforting and undamaged confines of Auxiliary Control Helen started to realize just how badly hurt _Relentless_ was. They had to detour several times past damaged corridors. At one point they had to go down two decks and through an access corridor between the weapons batteries on the gundeck to get around a huge gash in the ship. They also met medical teams heading towards SickBay carrying their pitiful burdens. When they reached the aft hammerhead, they had to split up to get to the two shuttles. Fortunately, the way was clear and the shuttles were undamaged.

Helen reflected that the shuttles were deliberately made so simple to operate that the marines could have surely piloted them on their own, but she was not going to mention that now. Besides, it was Navy policy that any expedition like this be under the command of an officer. She felt scared but also excited. _I'm leading a boarding party! I never would have expected this in my wildest dreams._ Another part deep inside her was exulting over the prospect of killing some Peeps face to face.

Once everyone was aboard, Helen contacted Anny Payne in the other shuttle. When she was ready, they blew the protective hatches over the shuttle bays and carefully maneuvered their tiny craft outside.

If the ruined interior of _HMS Relentless_ had been disturbing, from the outside she was a nightmare.

Helen had never imagined such destruction. It seemed impossible that anyone was still alive on board. The ship's starboard side, the side facing the enemy when the fight began, had been torn open in dozens of places. Structural members were exposed and twisted in bizarre shapes. Armor and hull plating had been ripped apart like tissue paper. Helen could see where Boat Bay One had exploded from inside. The port side was hardly damaged at all by comparison. Most of the hull was unblemished, and the imposing, but now impotent, weapons bays were intact.

At least until you looked forward.

About a hundred meters past the midway point of the ship the hull just...ended. An incredible, ragged stump was all that remained of the forward half of the ship. It was something the mind could scarcely accept. It was like waking up some morning and finding that half your home town had just vanished during the night-along with all the people who had lived there-and leaving nothing behind but an ugly hole.

Corporal Greene was muttering curses where he sat next to her in the co-pilot's seat. Some of the other marines were straining to catch glimpses over their heads. Those that got a look followed Greene's example. Helen's own emotions defied words nearly as well as they had a few hours before when they killed the Peep destroyer. She had only served on _Relentless_ for a few months. She didn't really know the crew very well. _But that was my ship, dammit!_ The rage started to build in her again. She clutched the controls and tried to fight it down. She almost lost it this time, but the urgency of her mission cut through the red haze that was nearly blinding her.

She shook herself and then turned her shuttle towards where the enemy was waiting.

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

The Peep cruiser looked to be in better shape than _Relentless_ as the two shuttles approached. The basic double hammerhead shape, common to all warships, was still intact: clearly the Peeps had not had a fusion plant cut loose. They were still too far away to see any details but there did seem to be a lot of debris floating around. And the Peep was tumbling very slowly, end over end. If there was anyone still alive aboard, either they had not regained any sort of control-or they were playing possum.

"You picking anything up, Ms. Payne?" asked Helen. A hair-thin, and hopefully undetectable, com laser linked the two shuttles.

"Negative, ma'am," reported Anny Payne. "The sensors on these shuttles aren't worth much, but there are no active scanners detected and no major energy sources. I'm getting a few garbled com transmissions though, so somebody must still be alive."

"Acknowledged, I'm getting about the same. Hopefully they don't know we are coming," said Helen.

"Amen to that. We're clay pigeons out here."

Helen shivered slightly. Anny was correct; they were all dead if the Peeps had any sort of weapons still functional. Even a point defense laser cluster could tear the two fragile shuttles apart in an instant.

They drew closer and closer but there was no sign the enemy was aware of their presence. The cruiser was tumbling end over end, but it was also spinning, even more slowly, around its long axis. When they had first gotten close enough to see her clearly the port side was towards them. Then the top of the ship had turned to face them. As they watched, the starboard side came into view and they realized that their enemy had been hurt far more badly than they first thought.

"God! Look at that!" exclaimed Corporal Greene, from the co-pilot's chair.

The Peep cruiser scarcely had a starboard side. There were only a few places where the outer hull plating was intact. The rest was a tangled and twisted mass of wreckage. Enormous holes had been blasted deep into the ship at several points and as they looked more closely, they realized that some of those holes went completely through to the other side. They stared in silence for a few moments, trying to take it all in.

"Good shooting, "Guns"," said Anny Payne quietly over the com.

Helen said nothing but continued to stare. Anny was certainly correct that this was her handiwork. The damage to the port side had been done through the cruiser's sidewalls during the first exchange, and bad though it was, it was nothing like this. Both ships had rolled to bring their undamaged batteries to bear. By then their wedges and sidewalls had gone down. But Helen had fired a fraction of a second quicker. The Peep had managed to get a few shots off and that was what had blown Fusion One, but _Relentless_ must have already destroyed most of the enemy's weapons with her first salvo. Her remaining fire, until the capacitors ran dry, had torn the guts out of the Peep.

Helen had dreamed of someday smashing an enemy like this, and she had expected to feel savage satisfaction at dealing out her revenge. But now that it had actually happened, it was too enormous for any emotion except awe at the forces she had unleashed.

_And if I had been an instant slower, this could have been us!_ The terribly narrow line between life and death in space combat had never been more starkly pointed out to Helen than right now.

Pulling herself back to the business at hand, Helen called _Relentless. _"Commander Hyman, are you getting this, sir?" The shuttles had several external cameras and Helen was sending an image back to the ship via another com-laser.

"Affirmative, but it's pretty fuzzy. It looks like they've had it. What do you think, Ms. Zilwicki?" asked Hyman. _Relentless_ was now less about fifty thousand kilometers away and the time lag on the communications was barely perceptible.

"It's hard to say, sir, some of the port side weapons could still be intact and..."

"I know, all they need is one shot," finished Hyman.

"Sir, I want to take a closer look at the port side," said Helen.

"Acknowledged. You may proceed, and good luck," said Hyman.

The two shuttles were only a few kilometers away from the enemy cruiser by this time. Helen took them around to the port side, being careful to stay clear of the hammerheads that were slowly windmilling around the ship's center of gravity. They were moving so slowly that it was easy to forget that there was enough mass in motion to swat their shuttles like gnats. Of course, the port side kept slowly turning away from them so it required some complicated gyrations of their own to stay where they wanted relative to the ship. It took about fifteen minutes to complete their inspection.

"I'm reading two grasers, one laser and three missile tubes on her broadside that could possibly be operational," reported Helen. "The aft chase armament is gone, but there could be a missile tube forward."

"I can see six laser clusters and three, possibly four, counter-missile tubes that could still be good to go," said Anny Payne. "Some of the sensors look undamaged as well."

"Have you seen any sign of repair parties?" asked Helen.

"Negative," replied Payne, " but they could be reconnecting power leads or hauling a missile into a tube without our seeing."

"Roger, and my readings indicate there are definitely some capacitors that still have power in them," said Helen. "Given time they could get off a shot at us."

"So what do we do, ma'am?" asked Anny.

Helen answered by contacting Lt. Commander Hyman. "Sir, our inspection indicates that the Peeps could still make trouble for us given time. There are too many separate weapons mounts to be taken out with Laser Four. I recommend that we board and secure the enemy vessel."

"Are you sure about that, Ms. Zilwicki?" asked Hyman. "From the looks of things you are going to have a hell of a time moving around inside that wreck, and we've received word that help is on the way."

"How long until it arrives, sir?"

"_Active_ should be here in three hours, and two pinnaces have been dispatched from _Formidable_ that will arrive in less than two," replied Hyman.

"Closest approach to _Relentless_ is in eighty-two minutes, sir," said Helen. "I'm not sure we can afford to wait."

There was a lengthy silence, then Hyman said: "Very well, Ms. Zilwicki, you have permission to board, but for God's sake be careful!"

"Aye aye, sir," responded Helen. She then took out her computer pad and called up the schematics of the enemy cruiser. Fortunately the Alliance had captured a number of _Scimitar_ class cruisers during the course of the war and they had reliable information on their construction. She stared at the schematics and then looked at the mangled wreck tumbling before her. For the first time she began to have doubts. _What should I do? The Regs don't cover a situation like this!_

The standard procedures for boarding an enemy ship called for a heavy boarding party of marines in battle armor supported by assault pinnaces that could take out enemy weapons and sensors with direct fire. If necessary, a ship's guns could be "spiked" with manually placed demolition charges. As a last resort against fanatic resistance, a nuclear "scuttling" charge could be employed although in those circumstances the mother ship could just as well stand off and blast the target from a distance. All was to be done "By the Book".

However, the "Book" did not anticipate a situation where the boarding vessel was as badly damaged as the vessel to be boarded. Helen had no marines in battle armor, no supporting assault pinnaces, no demolition or scuttling charges. She had two unarmed emergency shuttles, twenty-two marines with small arms and a few grenades and two very green-_and very scared_-midshipmen to lead them.

"What are your orders, ma'am?" asked Anny Payne over the com.

Helen swallowed. _Don't ever let them know you don't know what to do!_ "Ms. Payne, can you call up the Peep's schematics on your com-pad?"

"Already have them up, ma'am."

"Good. Can you spot airlock three-eight near the after impeller ring?"

"The one near that big hole, ma'am? I think so," replied Anny Payne.

"That's the one," said Helen. "I want you to dock there. Leave one man with the shuttle, then take your squad inside. Check to see if there is any repair activity around the nearest weapons mounts and then make your way to Auxiliary Control. If it is still functional I want you to secure it and wait for further orders. The inside of that wreck will play Hob with our suit radios so leave a com-wire back to the shuttle when you move, I'll do the same. If Auxiliary Control is not functional or you can't get to it and you can't reach me for further orders, make your way forward to the main bridge."

"Aye aye, ma'am," replied Anny.

"I am going to take first squad forward to check out that chase missile tube and then move aft towards the bridge. Any questions?"

"Yes, ma'am, what do I do with any survivors I encounter?"

Helen paused for a moment. "This is a combat situation, Ms. Payne. Any personnel encountered must be considered hostile."

"Ma'am, I don't have the manpower to guard a lot of prisoners or to take care of any wounded," said Anny Payne.

Helen clenched her fist. _Damn it, Anny! _she thought, _Do I have to spell it out for you? You can't __**take**__ any prisoners! It's them or us, if you run into any Peeps-Shoot!_

Carefully controlling her voice, Helen said: "Ms. Payne, you are going to have to use your own judgment in this, but I remind you of the vital nature of our mission. You must carry out your orders and you must not needlessly endanger your command when dealing with enemy personnel. Do you understand?"

There was a short pause and then Anny Payne said: "Aye aye, ma'am. I understand."

"Good, now let's get on with it."

The two shuttles turned and headed for opposite ends of the Peep cruiser. Helen had to pilot very carefully to approach the slowly swinging bow hammerhead. Because the bow weapons were so far removed from the broadside weapons she wanted to check them separately for any repair activity. Careful inspection revealed that it was a wasted trip. The missile tube that had appeared undamaged from outside could now be seen to have extensive internal damage. _Damn! If I had been more careful on the first pass I could have skipped this._

"Ms. Payne, are you there?" asked Helen as she maneuvered the shuttle away from the cruiser's bow.

"Yes, ma'am," answered Anny Payne.

"Slight change in plans," said Helen. "The bow tube is junk, so I am going to enter just aft of the forward impeller ring, at airlock one-four. I will inspect weapons mounts and head for the main bridge. What is your status?"

"We are hard docked at airlock three-eight and my squad has just entered the ship, ma'am," reported Payne with a slight strain in her voice. "There is no pressure in this part of the ship. We have not encountered any ... live enemy personnel."

Helen didn't need to be told why Anny had included the "live" qualifier in her report. By every indication so far, the cruiser was going to be a charnel house inside. "Acknowledged," said Zilwicki.

Helen brought her shuttle around toward the airlock she had decided to enter. They could have entered through one of the many holes in the ship's hull, but Helen wanted to stay out of the badly damaged areas if she could. She skillfully matched her motion to that of the cruiser and activated the docking tractors. There was a small bump and they were hard docked.

"All right, Corporal," said Helen, "Let's get going."

"Okay, people! Visors down, check your seals. Weapons are hot. Jaworski, you're in charge of that com cable, Randolph, you're to remain here-don't give me any lip, Marine! We've all got a job to do!" Helen was impressed with how well Corporal Greene was handling his sudden promotion to squad sergeant-it couldn't be easy with a patched together force like this.

Slinging her flechette gun, Helen moved to the lock at the rear of the shuttle. Greene offered to lead the way, but Helen, already a little miffed that Anny Payne's squad had beaten them aboard, was determined to go first.

"All right, standby for vacuum," said Helen, and she hit the controls to depressurize the cabin. There was a faint hissing sound that quickly faded, and Helen could feel her skinsuit expanding slightly as the pressure died away. A light turned green and she hit the button to open the door. A moment later she was looking at the exterior of the Peep airlock. Interstellar conventions had made the design and operation of all airlocks virtually identical. Helen was able to get the door open without trouble.

The interior of the lock was dimly lit by a few emergency lights. The grav plates in the deck were also operating off their emergency batteries but only at about a third of a gee. Helen moved gingerly into the lock and over to the control panel on the opposite wall. The instruments confirmed that there was vacuum on the other side of the lock. That was a mixed blessing. It meant they would be able to open the inner door without closing the outer door-leaving them a quick line of retreat if necessary. But it also meant that if they encountered compartments that still had pressure, it could be difficult to get into them. They had brought enough emergency patching to build one or possibly two temporary airlocks, but that was all.

Two burly marines got the inner door open, which was not as cooperative as the outer door had been. Helen peered down a dimly lit corridor.

"Corporal Greene, let's move out," ordered Helen.

"Right, Ma'am," replied the corporal. "Palanchar! Lewis! You're on point. You're with me Ma'am, the rest of you, in pairs at five-meter intervals. Spangler, you're in the rear and help Jaworski with that com cable. Okay, heads up everyone, let's go!"

They headed into the enemy ship.

Except for the dim lighting and the reduced gravity, there was nothing at first to indicate the ship they were in was a drifting wreck. At the first intersection Helen directed them to the right toward the forward broadside missile battery. Every twenty or thirty meters they had to open emergency bulkheads. Most opened easily enough, but several took more effort. They found no sign of any Peeps, living or dead. After a few minutes they reached the weapons bay.

They entered on a walkway above the four huge missile tubes of the battery. Each tube was about six meters in diameter on the outside. To their right the tubes merged with the skin of the ship, to their left they disappeared through the bulkhead. The tubes were heavily braced with large structural members and mammoth power conduits connected with them at intervals along their lengths.

The tube nearest them appeared undamaged, but they could see several large holes in the hull further down the line and wreckage in the bay. Sunlight streamed in through the holes at the moment, but that soon faded as the ship continued to tumble. They advanced cautiously but the huge compartment seemed unoccupied by the Peeps-except for the dead ones. About halfway down the walkway they found two bodies. They were lying near where something had blasted through the hull. Warships were constructed of some of the toughest materials man had yet developed, but they were still no match for man's weapons. Lasers and grasers didn't melt or burn their way through their targets. The amount of energy was so enormous that there was no time for that. Anything hit by them was literally shattered by the impact-producing a lethal spray of fragments. The two Peeps had been skewered by bits of hull and armor plating. One was horribly mangled, but the other one just seemed to be sitting there. Helen could see his face clearly through his helmet. _The face of the enemy._

Unfortunately, the same blast that had killed the Peeps had also destroyed the walkway and bulkhead for about ten meters. Helen looked through the hole and could dimly see the missile tubes continuing back to meet with their ammunition feeds, but there was no obvious pathway. They were forced to backtrack and climb down a ladder to the floor of the bay. Helen had her squad spend a few minutes wrecking whatever they could on the first missile tube. They did not have the tools to do any serious damage, but they could do enough to delay any repair attempts. Helen looked at her chrono and was shocked to see that thirty minutes had passed since her discussion with Commander Hyman. _This is taking too long. We have to get moving!_

"Corporal Greene, I want to move down to the far end of the bay and see if we can get back up to that walkway."

"Right, Ma'am." replied Greene. "Okay, marines, let's go."

Getting to where Helen wanted took more time. The far end had been badly smashed and there was wreckage everywhere. There were more bodies-and parts of bodies, too. The reduced gravity helped them scramble over the missile tubes and around the debris but they started discovering that some of the grav-plates were not working at all and some of them were working too well. Gravity would go from a third of a gee to nothing, to a half gee and back to nothing with no warning. They stumbled and fell often covering the hundred meters to the end of the bay.

Helen peered through a hole into the next weapons bay, but it looked in even worse shape than this one. A ladder let them get back up on the walkway where there was a hatch leading into the adjoining bay. Helen wanted to move further inboard and fortunately another hatch led that way. Unfortunately, that passage was completely blocked after only twenty meters. Helen spent a few anxious minutes with her com-pad before she found a way up to the next deck. Once there, they found a passage that was headed the direction she wanted to go.

Their progress was still slow. Several bulkhead doors refused to open and had to be cut. Wreckage had to be moved aside-and they found more bodies. Then they came to a gigantic tear in the ship. The passageway ended in a ragged hole. Helen stuck her head out and shone her helmet light around. She saw that this was one of the huge holes that had come in from the starboard side-one of the holes that she had made. To her left she could see stars and empty space in the distance. Opposite her the passageway continued, but there was a gap of a dozen meters. Above and below, the gash extended several decks. She picked up a piece of debris and gently tossed it across the gap towards the passageway. It sailed slowly across and then fell to the deck soundlessly as it entered the effect of the other passageway's grav plates. She did it again and noted that there did not appear to be any errant grav plates still operating to drag them down into the gash. The debris did travel in a slight curve due to the tumbling of the ship.

Helen felt herself trembling. The empty ship was becoming unsettling. There were dark spots where the Peeps could be waiting in ambush. The nightmarish shapes of the twisted wreckage, the bodies, and the shifting shadows caused by the ship's motion were also tugging at ancient fears that most people had long forgotten. She knew her nerve was starting to falter. There was only one thing to do.

Helen jumped.

Corporal Greene cried out, but Helen sailed smoothly across the gap and landed on her feet as easily as if she were in a ship's boarding tube. She looked back and waved.

"Send them across, Corporal, nothing to it."

"Yes, ma'am!" said Greene, half in admiration and half in exasperation.

Shortly the entire squad had joined her on the other side. One of the marines misjudged her jump slightly and bounced off a sharp piece of metal at the side of the passageway. The small tear in her suit could have been dangerous if she had been alone, but her squadmates slapped a patch on it and she was fine. Private Jaworski unreeled about thirty meters of the hair-fine com-cable and was the last one across. Helen was congratulating herself on a fine piece of leadership when the com nearly scared her out of her skin.

"Ms. Zilwicki, come in please." said Anny's voice.

"Zilwicki here," said Helen regaining her composure, "Go ahead."

"Ma'am, I'm at frame one-eighty-three," reported Payne. "The schematic says that Auxiliary Control should be just ahead, but there is nothing here but a big hole. I can look out the starboard side and see stars."

"Very good, Ms. Payne." replied Helen. "You can assume Auxiliary Control has been destroyed. We are running short on time, so I want you to come forward and meet us on the bridge. Your route should take you past the Secondary Damage Control center, check that out as you go by."

"Aye aye, ma'am. We have not encountered any live Peeps yet, but we did come across some bodies that have been disturbed. Somebody is alive on board."

"I understand, Ms. Payne, stay alert, Zilwicki out."

Helen sent two marines forward to scout and then she reported to Lt. Commander Hyman. He listened to her report and then said:

"It sounds like a real mess over there, Ms. Zilwicki, perhaps you should come back."

Helen was tempted; they had found no evidence that the Peeps were trying to get any part of the ship operational. But then she got the sudden mental image of _Relentless_ disappearing in a blazing flash of light as they were returning to her.

"Sir, it is thirty-four minutes until closest approach. It will take us nearly that long to get back to our shuttles. I hope to make it to the bridge in less than twenty minutes. I think we may as well stay and see this through, sir."

There was a pause and then Hyman said: "Very well, Ms. Zilwicki, you have a better view of the situation than I do. You may proceed."

As Helen signed off, her scouts returned. "There is a closed bulkhead about thirty meters ahead, ma'am," one of them reported. "The controls indicate that there is pressure on the other side."

Helen followed the marines to the bulkhead. She consulted her schematic and discovered that just beyond was supposed to be the cruiser's sickbay. If any part of the ship was likely to still have air, that was it.

"All right, Corporal, let's get that airlock set up here," said Helen.

The temporary airlock consisted of some folding metal frameworks that could be secured to the walls and deck. In between the frames were sheets of extremely strong plastic. The size of the airlock could be adjusted by where the frameworks were attached. Helen decided to make it big enough to fit the whole squad into at once. If there was an ambush waiting on the other side of the lock this could be a big mistake, but the other option was to divide her forces, which she did not want to do.

When everything was secure, one of the marines opened a canister of compressed air he had been lugging along. Helen could feel the air pressure building inside their plastic bubble. The silence of the vacuum gave way to a loud hiss from the canister. After a minute or two, the red light on the pressure door turned to green and they closed the air canister. They could now open the door. Corporal Greene slowly eased it open a crack as quietly as he could. He peered through and after a moment opened the door the rest of the way. He and several marines went through and then motioned for Helen to advance.

They were in another corridor running to the left and right. To the left there was a door about four meters away. The pressure indicator on it shown red. To the right the corridor went another five or six meters and turned to the left. Helen could hear voices coming from around the corner. She couldn't make out the words but there were also people groaning or crying out in pain. Turning off their helmet lights, Helen and Greene moved slowly up to the corner. Greene snuck a look around the corner and then indicated Helen should take a look.

Helen saw a long corridor with a number of open doors on the right hand side. Several people were standing in the corridor, but there was a larger number of people, twenty or thirty at least, sitting or lying on the deck. Many of them had bandages on them and they were clearly injured. A cry of pain came from one of the rooms. Helen withdrew around the corner.

_Now what do I do?_ she thought in growing desperation._ I can't take all this lot prisoner!_ A voice deep inside her was screaming: _Kill them! Kill them all!_ While there was nothing in her that protested that ruthless thought, she remembered something Colonel DuPique had said in his leadership class: _Never give an order that you know won't be obeyed._ Her marines would never go along with slaughtering a bunch of wounded. Even if they were Peeps.

Making certain her external speaker was off and that she was on the secure com channel, Helen addressed her squad. "All right, this is the Peep sickbay. There are a bunch of Peep wounded up ahead. I don't know if there are any armed personnel among them. We are going to advance at the double-quick and try to secure the whole area in a rush. Don't take any chances, if there is any resistance-shoot. Any questions? Okay, let's go!"

There was no resistance.

Helen's squad dashed down the corridor and quickly had every compartment under their guns. The Peeps just stood or sat and stared at them. There were a few sidearms among them but they made no attempt to use them and they were quickly confiscated. Helen strode through the sickbay and her gaze was met by indifference, hatred and even looks of relief. Most of the Peeps were hurt, some of them badly. Bloody bandages covered arms and legs-and the stumps of arms and legs. Even Helen's inner voice was stilled for the moment by this pitiful mob-not that she felt any pity for them, they were Peeps. She fingered the grip on her flechette gun and scowled.

In one of the compartments a Peep surgeon's mate was working on a man who had several large metal splinters impaling him.

"Are you in charge?" demanded Helen.

The man didn't stop working but he spared her a glance. "I suppose I am," he said. "Doctor Cavender was in charge, but he was in there."

Helen looked where the man had indicated with his eyes. Across the corridor was a row of sealed doors with the red indicator light glowing. That direction was toward the starboard side of the ship-the side Helen had destroyed. Looking around, Helen realized that the main sickbay had been behind those doors. This was just a series of sick berths that had been pressed into service as a makeshift surgery.

"Are there any officers in here?"

"I think I saw a lieutenant in one of the other rooms," said the man in growing irritation. "Look, I'm busy here! You've slaughtered most of us, give me a chance to save the rest!"

Helen's hands clenched on her gun, but she turned and walked out of the compartment without another word.

Nearby she found the Peep lieutenant. Most of her head was swathed in bandages and she was being cradled in the arms of an ensign with a bandaged leg.

"Ensign, where is the ship's captain?" asked Helen harshly.

The Peep looked at her for a moment. "I don't know, dead probably."

"Who's in command? I want this ship surrendered at once!" said Helen.

"How the hell should I know who's in command?" said the Peep angrily. "Look around! See what you've done? You proud of yourself, you Manty bastards!?

Private Morgenweck who was watching this compartment stepped forward and leveled his rifle, "Stow it, Peep! Our sickbay doesn't look any better!" the Peep subsided with a look of surprise on his face.

Helen turned away. _They don't know how badly hurt _Relentless_ is! But how could they? For all they know I have a battalion of marines backing me up._ She looked at her chrono again and realized if they were going to do any good they had to get to the bridge very soon. She couldn't leave this batch of Peeps in her rear: if any armed Peeps came here, these could tell them where she had gone. And as much as she wanted to, she couldn't kill them either. A plan began to form in Helen's mind. She keyed the 'all hands' circuit.

"Attention everyone. The Peeps have no clue there are only two dozen of us-don't let them know! Act like you're just one part of a big boarding party. They shouldn't give us any trouble. Ms. Payne, are you getting that?"

There was no answer.

"Second squad, do you read me?" Silence. "Commander Hyman, come in. Private Randolph, respond!" The com was dead.

"I'm sorry. ma'am," said Private Jaworski, "The line must have broken."

"That's all right," said Helen, "I'm surprised it lasted as long as it did." Which was perfectly true, but it was damned inconvenient nonetheless. Helen made up her mind and walked over to Corporal Greene.

"Greene, you are to remain here with seven of your troopers and hold this area. There are probably Peep rescue parties out there who will be coming back. You will take prisoner anyone entering this area and hold them. I will take the other three troopers and proceed to the bridge."

"Ma'am, do you think that's smart?" asked Greene in surprise. "There could be a lot of armed Peeps in that area. You should take more people with you."

"Midshipman Payne and the second squad should be arriving there shortly, between them and us we should not have any problems," said Helen.

"I don't like it, ma'am," began Greene.

"I'm not asking you to like it!" snapped Helen. "Now carry out your orders!"

"Aye aye, ma'am," said Corporal Greene stiffly. "Palanchar! Ricks! Lomas! Go with the officer."

They left the sickbay and headed for the bridge. Helen was now in the lead and she held her flechette gun at the ready. It was only about seventy-five meters, and one deck down, to the bridge. Slowly, they made their way through the debris-littered passageway. Down the gangway, through another bulkhead and around a corner and they were there. They paused to listen, but there was no sound. The door was standing open and Helen peered inside.

The bridge was a wreck.

The compartment still had pressure so the damage must have been caused by a secondary explosion. Warships had so many systems that operated at such gigantic energy levels that once a ship started taking damage, there was a frightful danger of equipment and energy conduits exploding violently. Something had clearly done so not far from the bridge. A large hole was torn in the rear bulkhead and part of the overhead. Jagged shards of metal had sprayed across the bridge smashing equipment and people. Helen could see perhaps a dozen bodies lying in various locations. Some had been badly torn up.

Helen walked around looking at the control panels. Some of them still worked, but she could see no indication that anything they were connected to did. As far as she could tell, the ship was dead. She checked the time again and saw that closest approach was only ten minutes away. If the Peeps had any weapons operational and ready to fire under local control, there was nothing she could do about it now. Her mission was complete-one way or the other.

Helen felt a strange lack of purpose. After the desperate rush to get here, now the feeling of anti-climax was numbing. She wandered aimlessly for a few minutes looking over her conquest. On one bulkhead was the builder's plaque. Helen went over to it and saw that she was aboard the PNS _Sword. _There were three doors into the bridge, the one they had entered through, another one opposite, and a third leading to the briefing room. Helen looked inside that and paused. Her marines had already checked the compartment, but they had missed something important. After a few moments she turned and addressed the marines with her.

"Private Palanchar, I want all three of you to proceed through that hatchway and try to make contact with second squad. They shouldn't be too far away. Be careful you don't get shot by them by mistake. If you haven't found them in fifteen minutes you can return. I will remain here to secure the bridge."

"Ma'am, you shouldn't stay here alone! This place could be crawling with Peeps!" protested Palanchar.

"I can take care of myself, Private," said Helen calmly. "Now carry out your orders."

The Marine could see that arguing would get him nowhere. He collected the others and moved out. Helen watched them go and waited for several minutes. Then she took her flechette gun and walked to the briefing room door.

Inside the compartment lay two Peeps. A young man, an ensign, had his arms around another figure. The ensign had a badly mangled right leg, but there was a tourniquet tied around his thigh and he was still breathing. He appeared to be unconscious. The other figure was not breathing as far as Helen could see. She stared at the pair for a moment. A look of cold fury was on her face.

Then she kicked the ensign's injured leg.

He jerked suddenly and cried out in shock and pain.

She kicked his leg again. Harder.

The man screamed and looked wildly at Helen. He tried to move away from her but still clung to the other figure. Helen took a step forward and kicked him again. And again. The man was sobbing in pain and terror and the blood from his leg was covering Helen's boot. The other figure slipped from his grasp and Helen saw that it was the ship's captain. The woman was quite dead; a large splinter was protruding from her abdomen. From the amount of blood, she had not died instantly. Helen stopped and stared.

_Is this how my mother died?_ she thought. _All alone on a dead ship? Ambushed before the war even started?_ The rage began to build inside her and she did not even try to control it.

"Damn you," she said to the trembling Peep. "Damn you!" and her voice rose to a scream. _"Damn you!"_

She raised her flechette gun and pointed it at the terrified man.

"You've taken everything from me! My mother! My father! My childhood! Everything! Damn you! Damn you all to Hell!" her voice has half shout and half sob. Her eyes were stinging, but she shed no tears. Helen Zilwicki had shed no tears for twelve years.

The Peep said nothing but continued to cry. He regained his grasp on his captain and pulled her close to him again. His eyes goggled at her in fear and then he tried to bury his face against the captain.

Helen tightened her grip on the gun. All she had to do was squeeze and dozens of lethal darts would rip through the Peeps. She wanted to-more than anything in the universe, she wanted to. Her face was twisted with hate. The man was a Peep! Right now to Helen he was _every _Peep! A single squeeze of the trigger would wipe them all away! She raised the gun to her shoulder. She stood there for a few seconds, shaking so badly she could scarcely aim, and then she lowered the gun slightly. She stiffened and raised it again. A battle was raging inside of Helen Zilwicki that rivaled the holocaust between the two cruisers three hours earlier.

After an endless moment, Helen gave a strangled cry of frustration and lowered the gun.

The Peeps had taken everything from her. Even her revenge.

Helen did not know how long she stood staring at the enemy she could not bring herself to kill. Finally, she turned and left the room.

And almost collided with something large and green.

In a tiny fraction of a second a half dozen thoughts flashed through her mind. _A marine. They came back early. Oh, God! Did they see me in there? Wait. That's the wrong shade of green! A Peep!_

With reactions trained by years of the martial arts, Helen pivoted on her left foot and drove her right heel into the chest of the Peep. Against a man in a skin suit, her blow would have been fatal. Even a man wearing body armor, like her marines had, would have been knocked down and stunned. Unfortunately, the Peep was not wearing a skinsuit or body armor. He was wearing a quarter-ton of battle armor and Helen's kick affected him not at all.

A stab of pain went up her jarred leg, but Helen instantly tried to spin away. She knew she couldn't fight a man in battle armor so all she could do was try to evade. She tried-but failed. A huge armored fist, propelled by powered servos, smashed into her left arm and side and flung her five meters across the bridge, slamming her into the bulkhead.

She slid to the deck, stunned. She looked around dazedly for her flechette gun, not that it was of any use, but she didn't see it. She looked down at her left arm. It was twisted at a bizarre angle and a strange lump was pushing out against her skin suit. Slowly she realized it was one of the bones in her forearm. She could hardly breath; daggers stabbed her left side when she inhaled. _Ribs broken, too_, she thought numbly. Her right arm and side were also in agony where she had hit the bulkhead. She had a pulser pistol in a holster on her belt but her right hand flopped about uselessly like a gaffed fish.

She raised her eyes slightly and saw a pair of huge armored feet standing two meters from her. Her eyes traveled up the legs and then stopped at the muzzle of the tri-barrel that was pointed at her. For a dozen thundering heartbeats she waited for the blast of fire that would tear her to bloody fragments, but it did not come. Helen's gaze continued upwards. By a trick of the light, she could see her own distorted reflection in the Peep's visor and also see his face as well. Two cold eyes looked down on her.

Helen's mind was a blank. She felt no fear, just an awful anticipation. _Why doesn't he do it? The Peeps have taken everything from me-and now my life, too._

The Peep continued to stare at her and Helen's mind slowly cleared. She saw that four or five other Peeps had entered the bridge. None of the others were in battle armor and two of them were not even marines, but they were all armed.

Helen was taking short shallow breaths and she felt a cough building up in her. She tried not to, but the cough burst out with a stab of agony in her side. She coughed again. Three more times and the pain had her crying out. Small gobs of spittle sprayed onto the inside of her visor. There were flecks of red in it. _Ribs must have punctured a lung,_ she thought through the pain.

The Peep, towering over her, glanced into the briefing room. He looked back at Helen. Finally the tri-barrel swung aside and he stooped down to take Helen's pistol out of its holster. The Peep straightened and started to turn away...

_"Helen!"_

The shout froze everyone in the compartment. Helen looked to the source and on the other side of the bridge stood Anny Payne. For an instant nobody moved. Then Anny fired the plasma carbine she was carrying. Battle armor could stand up to pulser fire and it was proof against most splinters and shrapnel, but it could not stand up to a point blank plasma bolt. For a split second a shaft of brilliant light stretched between Anny's carbine and the Peep's helmet. Then the helmet-and the head inside-exploded in a blast of fire. A man-made thunderclap shook the bridge. Something sharp hit Helen's leg.

The Peep marine's body collapsed in front of Helen with a crash and then everyone was moving. The other Peeps dove behind control consoles and Helen saw Anny and some of her marines do the same. In an instant a hail of pulser darts, flechettes and plasma bolts swept across the bridge, pocking the bulkheads and chewing pieces out of the control consoles. Helen cringed down as far as she could, trying to shield herself behind the armored body of the Peep marine. Projectiles ricocheted everywhere. Several hit the bulkhead behind her and something pinged loudly off her helmet. After a few moments the fire slackened. For all its fury, none of the Peeps had gone down. Helen could not tell if any of the Manticorans had been hit either.

Suddenly, Anny Payne was calling her over the private command circuit. "Helen! Helen! Are you there? Answer!"

"I'm here, Ms. Payne," replied Helen.

"Are you all right?"

"I...I'm...hurt. But I'm all right."

"Hold on! We'll get you out!" cried Anny.

Helen looked over the situation. Another volley of shots rang out. "Anny, you can't get to me without exposing yourself. I know you have some grenades, you are going to have to use them," said Helen.

"Not with you there!"

"There's no choice. That's an order," said Helen.

There was a short pause and another burst of firing. "Your signal's breaking up, ma'am, I can't hear you," said Anny.

"You heard me!" said Helen angrily. "Now do it!"

"No, ma'am, I won't," said Anny firmly.

Anny could get her whole force wiped out-and there was no point to it anymore! The mission was done! Helen looked around in desperation. The Peeps were not in armor and she was behind them, if she could get a weapon...

Her flechette gun was gone and she could not see her pistol anywhere either. The Peep marine lying in front of her still had the tri-barrel. Helen started inching away from the bulkhead. She knew it was hopeless: even with two good arms she would have trouble handling a tri-barrel, but she had to do something.

There was another fusillade of shots and something hit her left arm below the shoulder and threw her back against the bulkhead. Helen cried out more from the pain in her ribs than from the new wound in her arm. She looked and saw blood oozing out of the hole in her skin suit.

"Helen! Are you hit!?" shouted Anny.

"I'm still here, Anny," said Helen. "Anny, you don't have to do this. The mission's accomplished. Help will be here soon. Pull out and leave me."

"I'm not leaving you!"

"I'll be all right," said Helen in fresh desperation. "Come back when you find help!

"

"I'm not leaving you with the Peeps! You need help and there's no telling what they might do!" Anny's voice was just as desperate as hers.

"Then you're going to have to use those grenades."

"No!" cried Anny.

"Anny, _please!"_ moaned Helen. "There's no other way."

There was a pause.

"Yes, there is," said Anny Payne.

Helen didn't know what Anny meant, but a chill ran through her. She heard Anny switch to the 'all hands' circuit.

"Anny, no," she whispered.

At the other end of the circuit was Andreanne Payne, proud daughter of the planet Grayson, Midshipman in the Royal Manticoran Navy.

"Second Squad! Follow me!"

Helen watched helplessly as Anny vaulted over the console she had been sheltering behind. The Peeps were taken off guard by the sheer audacity of the move and did not fire for an instant. Even when they did, nothing seemed to touch Anny.

Helen saw Anny take two long strides in the low gravity and leap up onto one of the consoles. She saw her cut down one of the Peeps with her carbine. She saw the rest of Anny's troopers come surging behind her shouting a marine battle cry. She saw the Peeps start to break. She saw the one Peep who did not. And she saw a burst of pulser darts stitch a neat row across the chest of Anny's skinsuit and hurl her to the deck.

_"Anny! No!"_ screamed Helen.

Helen was away from the bulkhead and crawling awkwardly toward where Anny lay. She scarcely felt the sickening pop or the white-hot pain as her right shoulder was pushed back into its socket. Her useless left arm trailed behind her. She reached her and stopped in horror. Anny lay on her back with her eyes closed. There was a faint smile on her lips. Her chest was covered with blood.

"Anny, no."

Helen reached out her hand to touch the blood stained body. Sobs wracked her chest sending more agony shooting through her. But still no tears came-her eyes had forgotten how to cry.

A marine suddenly thumped down beside Anny. Helen looked in his face and saw his shock and anguish. "Medic! Get the medic over here! We've got an officer down!" he shouted, his voice breaking.

Another marine with a medkit appeared. Helen looked at Anny... God, there was so much blood!

"Help her. Please help her," moaned Helen.

"I'll try, ma'am," said the marine. "Christ, she's a mess!"

He clipped his medical scanner to the connection on Anny's suit and looked at the readout. "Okay, her heart and her spine weren't hit, but she's got holes in both lungs and God knows what else," he said in near panic. "I'm not a fully trained medic, ma'am, I've never done this before!"

Helen took Anny's left hand in her right and to her amazement Anny opened her eyes.

"Anny! Anny!" cried Helen.

Anny rolled her eyes to look at Helen and she smiled.

"I told you there was a way," she whispered.

"Ma'am, the only thing I can do for her here is to use the med-gel on those wounds and then get her to some real help fast," blurted the medic.

"Then do it," sobbed Helen. The med-gel was a miracle worker on the battlefield. When sprayed into a wound it would seep down inside and stop bleeding both internally and externally. The problem was that it could not reconnect severed veins or arteries. If something vital had been cut, the gel would not fix that. It was also dangerous to use the gel on lung punctures because it tended to seal breathing passages as well as blood vessels. The gel might save Anny, but it might kill her, too.

The medic started wiping blood away to find the punctures and squirt the med gel into them. Helen clung to Anny's hand.

"You're going to make it, Anny!" hissed Helen through clenched teeth. "You're not going to die. We're going to get you out of here. You're not going to die! Do you hear me?" The medic gently rolled Anny on her side to get at the exit wounds. She winced although the low gravity made it easier on her. The medic finished and slowly laid her flat again.

Anny smiled, but there was blood on her lips. "I hear you, Helen. No, I'm not ready to die... I'm not going to give up yet." She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them and looked into Helen's eyes.

"That's the secret, you know."

The med-gel had powerful painkillers in it, and they were taking effect on Anny. Her eyelids were fluttering and finally closed. For an instant Helen panicked, but then she could see that Anny was still breathing.

The medic straightened up and said, "That's all I can do, ma'am, we need to get her to help right away."

The corporal of Anny's squad said: "Those pinnaces should be nearly here, ma'am. We can carry her out to meet them."

Helen looked up. The marines of Anny's squad were all standing in a circle around her. The three marines she had sent off were there, too. She had completely forgotten the fighting, but they seemed to have won. She moved back from Anny and four of the marines moved in. They picked Anny up gently-reverently, even. Several of the others were weeping openly. One battle-scarred old veteran with a tear-streaked face looked at Helen.

"Did you see? Did you see her, ma'am? Did you see the way she led us? You'll tell them won't you? Tell them what she did?"

Helen nodded. "I'll tell them."

The medic started to help Helen to her feet. She groaned as he touched her arm and he pulled back in surprise, really looking at her for the first time.

"Shit! I didn't know you were hurt, too, ma'am!"

"I'll be all right," said Helen.

"Hell! You're all banged up! That arm looks broken!"

"The ribs too, I think," admitted Helen.

"And you got hit in the arm," he said squirting some of the med-gel onto her shoulder. "Come on, ma'am, we've got to get you out of here."

Several of the marines carefully helped Helen to her feet. The painkillers were starting to work. Helen felt drowsy, but she refused to leave immediately.

"There's a wounded Peep in there," she said motioning to the briefing room. "We need to bring him, too." She had no idea why she said it.

Two of the marines went to the door and looked in. After a moment they looked back at Helen.

"There's nobody alive in here, ma'am."

Helen stood there in confusion for a moment and then shuffled over to the door. The two Peeps were lying where she had last seen them, but they were both dead. A ricocheting pulser dart had hit the ensign in the chest and a dark stain covered the front of his skin suit. Helen just looked in stunned silence. After a few long moments she turned and looked at the headless body of the Peep marine who had refused to kill her. She looked back at the dead ensign.

_Is this revenge?_ thought Helen in a daze._ Is this what I've waited for so long? I've smashed an enemy ship, killed close to a thousand Peeps; I'm standing on the bridge of an enemy ship with its captain dead at my feet. This should be better than anything I ever dreamed of. _

She looked down at the dried blood on her boot.

_ Why do I feel so empty?_

She made no protest as the marines led her gently away.

HHH

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**H**elen woke up in a private sick bay berth aboard _HMS Formidable_. This was not surprising since she had been waking up there every day for over a week. What was surprising was that she could not feel the subtle but ever-present hum of the Alpha nodes generating the Warshawski sails.

_We've dropped out of hyper,_ she thought,_ I wonder where we are?_

Helen tried moving her arms. The right one was nearly as good as new. The Quick Heal had repaired the dislocated shoulder almost completely. There was a little stiffness, but no real pain. The left arm was another matter. The pulser wound had been minor: the deflected dart had not penetrated far and it did not trouble her. The shattered bones, however, still needed quite a bit of mending. An inflatable cast held her elbow and forearm immobile and she could tell from the dull ache that she had better leave it be for the moment. An attempt to take a deep breath also warned her that her ribs were not fully repaired either. The general feeling of fatigue that the Quick Heal caused was still very noticeable in spite of Helen sleeping about fourteen hours a day.

_I can't stay in here another day!_ she thought, looking around the small compartment in frustration._ If they don't let me at least see Anny today, I'm going to tear this place apart!_ Helen had been trying to get information about the condition of Anny, and the other cadets who had been injured aboard _Relentless,_ ever since she had awakened from the surgery that put her arms and ribs back together. Patric and Alby had visited her but they could not get anything out of the doctors either. Patric was almost frantic over Anny. Except for vague reassurances, they had gotten nothing. That had left Helen with far too much time to think. Too much time to think about some of the things that had happened aboard the Peep cruiser. Too much time to think about the last twelve years of her life.

Helen closed her eyes. The image of Anny charging across the bridge of the enemy cruiser and then falling to the deck replayed itself yet again. She felt guilt that her friend had been hurt trying to save her, and guilt over why she had needed saving. But more than anything, she felt awed and troubled by what had happened that day. Hate had driven Helen for years. It had given her strength and courage and endurance. But it wasn't hate; it wasn't a desire to kill Peeps, that had made Anny lead that charge. It wasn't hate that had caused Anny's marines to follow her into the Peeps' guns. Helen had studied about the psychology of combat, the principles of leadership and the powerful bonds that develop between comrades. To her they had simply been useful facts, tools that would allow her to kill Peeps more efficiently. That day on the Peep cruiser had shown her that they were far more than that.

Anny had come to her rescue because of who the two of them were and the bonds that joined them. The marines had followed because of the loyalty they had developed for Anny in the few short hours she had led them.

And hate had not been a factor at all. Killing Peeps was not even an issue. _Is everything I believed irrelevant? Admiral Thayer said I need something more than hate to sustain me-is she right? But what else do I have?_ She shook her head. These thoughts had been troubling her for days. She had no answers anymore. _The Admiral was right about one thing: It's not as simple as we think._

Helen was still locked in these gloomy, puzzling thoughts, when the door opened.

"Someone here to see you, ma'am," said a med-tech sticking his head in the room.

The head withdrew and in limped Rear Admiral Sylvia Thayer. To say Helen was surprised was an understatement. She could only gawk for a moment.

"Good morning, Helen," said Thayer, closing the door behind her.

"Good...good morning, Admiral," stammered Helen. She tried to pull herself up in the bed a little more but Thayer put out a hand.

"Please, Helen, rest easy. This isn't an official visit," said Thayer. And then, almost shyly: "I just came to see how you are doing."

"I'm doing fine, Admiral," answered Helen. There was a moment of awkward silence and then Helen said, "Won't you sit down, Admiral?"

"Thank you, Helen," said Thayer with a relieved smile. She came around to the right side of Helen's bed, leaning on her cane, and sat down on the chair that was there. Helen noticed the grimace as Thayer bent her knees.

"How is your leg, ma'am?" asked Helen.

"Oh, very well, thank you," said Thayer. "Almost good as new. Or I suppose I should say: 'as good as the old'." Thayer's smile faded and she looked at Helen intently. "But how are you feeling?"

"A little tired. I must have slept longer than I thought," said Helen. "I didn't realize we had reached Manticore already."

"We haven't," replied Thayer. "We're still at the Junction. We should be getting under way for Manticore shortly."

"You came all the way out here just to see me, ma'am?" asked Helen in surprise.

"Well, the courier was bringing Cadet Payne's parents anyway and I just hitched a ride," said Thayer with a smile.

"Anny!" exclaimed Helen. "How is she? I mean really? They just keep giving me this bedside bullsh-, er... I mean they won't tell me anything and they won't let me see her!"

"She's doing well enough, considering," said Thayer. "She was pretty badly shot up, but she should recover completely given some time. Fortunately they didn't have to freeze her, so a month or two should do the trick."

"Thank God," whispered Helen in relief. "She saved my life, Admiral. You should have seen her lead that charge into the compartment! She was a real hero! She deserves a medal."

"I've heard all about Cadet Payne," nodded Thayer. "The Marines' reports were quite detailed. I imagine she will get that medal. I wouldn't be surprised if there was one for you, too."

"For me?" said Helen in surprise. "I didn't do anything special. I just tried to do my duty-and got a little busted up in the process." _And I don't deserve a medal for what I almost did._

"There's doing your duty and then there's doing your duty," said Thayer. "Leading a boarding party to take control of an unsurrendered enemy ship is not exactly typical duty for a cadet on her 'prentice cruise. And Lt. Commander Hyman's report on your performance during the battle was also extremely complimentary. Of course, I would be remiss in _my_ duty if I didn't point out that anticipating the commanding officer's orders is not always the best thing to do."

Helen blushed fiercely, her pale complexion turning a bright pink.

"I'm sorry, Admiral, it just seemed that time was critical and..."

"Don't be sorry, Helen, you did the right thing. Commander Hyman's report was quite candid about his own hesitation and he credits you with probably saving the ship."

"Thank you, Admiral," said Helen. "Not that there was much ship left to save at that point."

"No, I suppose not," said Thayer gravely. "You and the other cadets did a magnificent job in all that mess. We didn't anticipate sending you into quite so desperate a situation, but you all met the challenge in the finest tradition of the Academy. Sadly, I'm afraid _Relentless _has fought her last battle."

Helen stared at Thayer for a few moments and then asked the other question she had not been able to get a straight answer to: "How many of the cadets made it back?"

Thayer dropped her eyes and said quietly, "Fourteen, including you and Anny. Six of those are wounded."

A groan escaped Helen's lips _Twelve! Twelve of my people are dead!_

"I'm sorry," whispered Helen.

"I'm sorry, too," said Thayer sadly. "It's a hard thing to lose people under your command Helen, but that's another part of our duty."

Duty. Helen had thought about nothing but duty for years. Long before she set foot on Saganami Island she had become a creature of duty. Duty to the Queen, duty to the nation, duty to the Fleet. Duty to the memory of her mother. Duty to seek her revenge. But what about her duty to people? Not her 'shipmates' or her 'comrades', but to the _people_ who were wearing those uniforms? What about her duty to herself? _It had all seemed so simple. But it's not is it? What is my duty? And to whom?_

Helen looked up and realized that Thayer was still sitting there looking at her. Helen could not quite interpret the look in the Admiral's eyes, but the silence was becoming uncomfortable.

"Admiral, it was very kind of you to come all the way out here to tell me this," said Helen at last.

"I didn't come here just to tell you that, Helen," said Thayer, and there was a quaver in her voice. "I came because I was worried about you, Squirt."

The use of Thayer's old nickname for her seemed to grab hold of something deep inside Helen and she inhaled sharply despite the pain in her ribs. It felt like something was swelling up, getting ready to burst out. Tears were filling her eyes making it hard to see clearly. She blinked and blinked, but they would not go away. Rear Admiral Sylvia Thayer-Aunt Sylvie-her godmother-was here because she was worried about her! Helen suddenly realized one duty she had been neglecting for a very long time. One duty that was more important than her revenge.

Helen reached out her right hand towards Thayer. Both of Thayer's hands came up and enfolded hers. Helen could not tell if it was her trembling, or Thayer-or both. Thayer's eyes were bright with tears, too. They looked at each other for a long moment. Helen tried to speak, but it took several attempts before she could get anything out through her quivering lips.

"Aunt Sylvie?" said Helen at last.

"I'm right here, Squirt," whispered Thayer.

"I love you, Aunt Sylvie," said Helen. Her voice was just a squeak and a hot tear ran down her face.

With a tiny sob Thayer was out of her chair and kneeling by Helen's bed. She did not quite know how to embrace Helen for fear of hurting her, but Helen reached out with her good arm and pulled Thayer to her fiercely and hung on.

"I love you too, Squirt," said Thayer through her tears, returning her embrace. They kissed each other and rocked gently back and forth.

The dam inside of Helen burst at last and she cried and sobbed and wept-for how long she did not know. A dozen years of unshed tears poured down her cheeks. She wept for her mother; she wept for her father. She wept for Anny and the Twelve on _Relentless_. She wept for the nameless Peeps on the wrecked cruiser. She wept for Sylvia Thayer-and most of all she wept for Helen Zilwicki, age sixteen.

And all that time her Aunt Sylvie held her and wept along with her.

It seemed a long, long time later when the sobs finally stopped. Thayer pulled away a bit and they stared at each other's tear streaked, but smiling faces. It must have been a very uncomfortable position for Thayer, bent over the bed as she was and on her bad knee, but neither of them wanted to let go.

At last Helen loosened her embrace and Thayer got back into her chair. Helen kept a tight grip on Thayer's hand.

"Don't let go, Aunt Sylvie," said Helen.

"Never, Squirt, I'll never let go again."

They sat and stared at each other in silence, but now there was nothing uncomfortable about it.

"Aunt Sylvie?" said Helen after a while.

"What is it, Helen?" asked Thayer.

"Will you tell me about my mom?"

**Epilogue**

**R**ear Admiral of the Green Sylvia Thayer got up from her desk and walked toward the door. From habit, she picked up her cane as she went. Halfway to the door she stopped and looked at the precious piece of wood and gold. A faint smile passed over her lips. She turned and walked slowly through her office until she found a display case that was not too crowded. She opened it up and carefully placed the cane inside. Then she closed the case and strode out of her office, winking at a certain portrait as she went.

She passed by her secretary in the outer office and walked down the corridor. For once, she made it past Commander Semanick's office without his seeing her. _But he's busy working out the last of the details-I guess I can forgive him for missing this once, _thought Thayer with a grin. She strode by the bank of lifts and took the stairs down to the main floor. Then it was out through the double doors and down the steps to the Quad. It was so good to be able to walk again! What joy in such a simple thing. Now that it was all over, she was very glad she had gone through with the regeneration therapy. What was three years against the century and a half she still had ahead of her?

It was a beautiful spring morning. It had rained the night before and a few puddles remained here and there, but it would not dare rain today. It was Graduation Day for the Three Hundred and Forty-Second Regiment of Cadets. There were a number of cadets wandering the Quad; many of them were with their families. They would only be cadets for a few more hours and most were already in their new Royal Navy mess dress uniforms.

Thayer smiled. This was a special day to her for many reasons. This was the first class to complete the new curriculum. What came after this would be the test of how well Thayer and her subordinates had done their jobs. Everything that Thayer had seen indicated that this class would be as good as any that had passed through these halls. The Admiralty seemed pleased as well. But the true test, as always, would come Out There.

Thayer walked across the Quad and toward the southwest exit. As she passed groups of people she returned salutes and stopped now and then to talk to cadets and their parents. She passed between two of the buildings and walked along a path lined with huge old trees. She had not often taken this path, but today was a special day.

The trees gave way to an open lawn. The path led her towards a large stone building: Memorial Hall. It was built in a style that the Solarians condescendingly called "Colonial Gothic". In truth, it was not a bad classification. Except for some rather unusual decorative details, a medieval townsman or bishop of Old Earth would have felt right at home inside.

She went around the statue of Edward Saganami that stood outside and walked up the wide stone steps. Three sets of huge wooden doors with black metal hinges gave entry to the building. Taking off her beret, Thayer quietly opened one of the doors and stepped through. It seemed much darker inside in spite of the morning light streaming through the stained glass windows. Thayer had to pause for a moment to let her eyes adjust.

It was not really a church, even though it looked like one. Enormous stone columns rose to the soaring ceiling. Once her eyes got used to it, it seemed adequately lit. There were elaborately carved stone and wood decorations throughout the building. Some were abstract, but many were of motifs that anyone in the navy would recognize. Lining the upper walls were row on row of flags. The flag of each class to pass through the Academy was displayed. By the end of this day, one more would hang here. A number of people were strolling about, looking at the various memorials. They spoke in whispers.

There were mosaics in the floor. Inset tablets of bronze and marble marked the resting-places of the remains of many great men and women. There were small alcoves and niches on either side. Thayer walked slowly towards one alcove that she had visited a number of times before. As she drew near she saw that two people were already standing there and she stopped a few meters behind them. A man of medium height in the uniform of a senior grade captain stood next to a smaller woman with short blond hair. They had their arms around each other's waists.

Thayer stood silently watching the pair. When she had seen these two the evening before, Anton Zilwicki and his daughter Helen, walking up the path towards her residence, arms around each other just like this, Sylvia Thayer thought her heart would break with joy. She had to excuse herself to her other guests and retire to her room for a while to compose herself. Standing here now she found herself again blinking back tears. Anton had his daughter back, just as Thayer had regained her goddaughter. There were still a lot of wounds to heal, a lot of awkwardness to overcome, but it was a start.

Thayer walked up beside the pair and they smiled when they saw her.

"Aunt Sylvie!" said Helen gladly. She detached herself from her father and hugged Thayer warmly. Thayer closed her eyes and hugged her back. _Not 'Admiral', not 'Commandant', Aunt Sylvie! It's all I ever wanted from her. Thank God! Thank God!_

When Helen stepped back, Thayer and Anton Zilwicki exchanged greetings and a quick hug. The three then turned back to regard what was in the alcove; Helen in the center; Anton and Thayer each with an arm around her.

A bronze bust that looked very similar to one of the portraits on Thayer's wall sat in a niche. A tablet below described the accomplishments of Anton's wife, Helen's mother and Sylvia Thayer's best friend. The bust had been here for over ten T-years and the original finish had dulled and turned brown. Except for the Parliamentary Medal of Valor that hung around its neck. That was still a bright, gleaming gold; burnished by the fingers of thousands of cadets who had touched it for luck.

The three stood in silence, lost in their memories of the woman they all had loved. Minutes passed and finally Anton Zilwicki stirred.

"She was a great lady," he said quietly. "I wish she could be here to see this today."

"She is, Dad, she is," said young Helen, her voice breaking slightly. Thayer closed her eyes and hugged Helen close to her. Anton did the same and after a moment Helen said:

"Hey, guys, you're squishing me."

The elders loosened their grips slightly.

"Sorry, Squirt," said Thayer. "How are those ribs of yours?"

"Fine, Aunt Sylvie, fine. They've had five months to heal, you know."

"I know, Helen," said Thayer, "but you know how we old folks worry." Helen smiled at her and Thayer smiled back. But then Thayer's eyes looked down to the Wound Stripe on Helen's uniform. It matched the one on Thayer's own tunic. _Scarcely seventeen and she already bears the scars of battle._

Helen suddenly turned and looked towards the doors of the hall. Thayer followed her gaze and saw a group of people walking in their direction. As they drew closer, Thayer recognized two of Helen's roommates, Andreanne Payne and Patric McDermott. With them were some of Cadet Payne's family. Even though she must have seen them only an hour or two earlier, Helen went to meet her friends and hugged them. Then the two groups exchanged greetings.

"Ambassador Payne, good morning," said Thayer to Anny's father. "I hope the guest quarters were to your satisfaction. Again let me give you my congratulations on your promotion."

"Thank you, Admiral. I look forward to spending many more years on Manticore-and the quarters were perfectly satisfactory."

With the Ambassador was one of his wives, Ruth, and two of his other daughters. To her embarrassment, Thayer could not remember their names.

"Where's Alby?" asked Helen.

"He's off with his parents and Admiral Givens," said Anny. "My mother Rachel, Abigail, and Jeremiah went with him to keep him out of trouble."

"I wish them better luck than I had," said Thayer with a smile. It was a joke and they all knew it. Cadet Hinsworth's performance had been much improved since its nadir during his third form. He still had more demerits than any other cadet in the class, but Thayer no longer feared what sort of officer he would make.

Anton Zilwicki shook hands with Ambassador Payne. They had met for the first time the previous night at Thayer's residence. There was still a bit of awkwardness on Anton's part. That was understandable: what do you say to the father of the person who saved your child's life?

Anny Payne came up to Thayer. "Admiral, I want to thank you again for making this possible. I realize it was the decision of the Faculty Council, but I know you had a great deal to do with it as well."

"I'm glad it worked out for you, Anny, and you are welcome," replied Thayer. Anny Payne smiled and moved away. Thayer watched as she returned to the side of Patric McDermott and their hands met and clasped. _A few more hours and that won't be any concern of mine, I hope they can find happiness together. _Anny was moving a little unsteadily and she seemed pale and thin. It had been five months since she was wounded on the Peep cruiser. There had been some complications with her recovery and she had gotten out of the hospital only a month ago. As a result she had missed a lot of classes. She had done as much as she could from her hospital bed, but she had still fallen badly behind. At Thayer's urging, the Faculty Council had voted to allow Anny Payne to graduate with her class today, provided she remain at the Academy long enough to make up what she had missed.

Thayer smiled and shook her head slightly. _I've never been so glad to be wrong about a person. She's going to be a fine officer. _As Thayer stared at the young woman, she noticed the Wound Stripe on her uniform. _Another child forced to grow up too soon_. Thayer refused to let herself get depressed about it. Instead, she looked at the rest of Anny's uniform. It was nearly identical to Helen's, but different from that of every other cadet on Saganami Island. Instead of the thin gold welt of an ensign on the sleeves, Anny and Helen wore the broader stripe of a lieutenant, junior grade. The reason for that difference could be found hanging on their chests. Anny and Helen had been awarded the Royal Navy's Conspicuous Gallantry Medal for their actions aboard _HMS Relentless_ and the enemy cruiser. One old tradition of the Academy had not been changed: Any cadet decorated for heroism was always bumped one rank at graduation. That was a tradition with which Thayer fully agreed. It had only happened ninety-seven times before in the four hundred T-year history of the Academy. Helen and Anny were the ninety-eighth and ninety-ninth.

Thayer felt very good about that. It was something that all the money or the highest parentage in the world could not buy. Helen and Anny would start their careers a full grade in rank higher than their peers. Influence might send others up the ladder faster, but at least these two had a well-deserved head start.

Anny Payne had a second medal hanging on her chest. She might not be a member of the Grayson Navy, but they had not forgotten her. She wore their equivalent of the CGM. Actually, Anny had become something of a darling of the media after her exploits. Admiral Cristen had recommended the two of them for the CGM based on the after-action reports he received. Once the media got hold of the story, some people in Parliament had latched on to it and there was actually talk of awarding Anny the Manticore Cross or even the Parliamentary Medal of Valor. Fortunately, when The Graysons made it quite clear that they would not even consider giving Anny the Star of Grayson, cooler heads prevailed and they went with the CGMs. Helen and Anny seemed quite content.

While Thayer was thinking, they had been walking slowly toward the far end of the hall. The young folks had been pointing out items of interest to Anny's family, but now they fell silent. Thayer and Anton slowed their pace and let Helen and Anny and Patric move ahead. She and Anton put out their hands to silently halt Ambassador Payne and his wife and children. The Ambassador looked at Thayer in puzzlement. Thayer gestured toward the far wall. He looked and then understood. High on the marble wall were letters which read:

The Royal Manticoran Naval Academy

Roll of Honor

In Memory of Those Cadets Who Gave Their Lives for The Kingdom

Thayer and the others looked on in silence as the three youths approached the wall under the letters. Inscribed in the marble were nearly five hundred names: The names of cadets who had died while at the Academy during its long history. Some had died in training accidents. Many had died on their 'prentice cruises.

There were thirty-seven new names on the roll.

The three were drawn to those new engravings. Trembling hands gently brushed the names of their comrades. Shoulders shook and tears flowed. McDermott put his huge arms around the shoulders of the two young women and they put their heads close together. Thayer bit back her own emotions. She heard the Ambassador's wife give a tiny sniffle.

"I envy you, Admiral," said Ambassador Payne quietly.

"Sir?"

"I said that I envy you." Thayer glanced at the man standing next to her. He was staring intently at his daughter.

"The pride I hold for my daughter cannot be expressed in words. She has done so very well already, and if God wills it, she may do greater things yet. I am a realist, Admiral, I know that those who favor the reforms will use her as an example and her deeds will be magnified. Generations from now her name may be spoken in the same breath as Benjamin IX and Honor Harrington. What father could ask more of his child?

"But we Graysons love our children above all other things, Admiral," continued the Ambassador. "I love my daughter more than my own life. Yet I can see now that she has entered a world that I can never fully understand. It is the way of things that children grow apart from their parents, but as the years pass and they have children of their own, they come back to us. Will my daughter return to me? She has shared something with those young people, has a closeness with them, that I cannot share or be any part of. You are a part of that world, Admiral, and I envy you."

Thayer was silent. What the Ambassador said was true. The bonds that grew between people who had served and faced death together were very strong. It was unusual for a civilian to be aware of those special ties. Thayer did not know what to say to him.

"But she will not love you any less because of it, sir," she said at last.

Ambassador Payne looked at her with a faint smile. "Thank you, Admiral. Thank you for that."

The three young cadets had now dried their tears and were coming back to their elders. Sad smiles were on their faces. Thayer checked her chrono.

"Well, I had better be getting back to my quarters to get ready," she said. "Unless I miss my guess, that's true for you three as well."

"We want to return to our quarters for a while, too, Admiral, " said Ambassador Payne.

"Then we will all be heading in the same direction for a while. Shall we go?"

Three hours later Sylvia Thayer was on the reviewing stand by the parade ground. Graduation Day usually brought a lot of guests and Thayer was sometimes hard pressed to play host to all of them. Fortunately, the Queen was always present and she naturally became the center of attention. More often than not, the Queen and her retinue ended up in the role of hosts and Thayer just had to make certain that Her Majesty was properly taken care of.

Today, however, there were enough guests that even Her Majesty and Admiral Thayer together had their hands full. The presence of Anny Payne in the graduating class had attracted a number of Graysons beside her family. High Admiral Wesley Mathews of the Grayson Navy was here with some of his staff, as well as Protector Mayhew's younger brother. One special guest was Admiral Honor Harrington. Thayer was not sure which navy she was on leave from at the moment, but somehow she had found out about Anny Payne's great admiration for her and had arranged a visit. Anny had met her at the reception the night before. Considering how dazed she had been at the time, Thayer was a little surprised that Anny had not been walking into the walls when she saw her that morning.

Somehow Thayer managed to get all the guests onto the reviewing stand at the same time and get the ceremony going. It was all very impressive. Over ten thousand cadets filled the parade ground. The graduating class, in their new black uniforms, stood in a regimental front directly before the platform. The three other regiments, still in Cadet Gray were lined up behind. Speeches were made and oaths were sworn and received. Finally, it was time for the grand review.

Starting with the First Form cade

ts, each of the classes marched by the reviewing stand to pay their respects to the Queen. The First Form was not quite as sharp as they might have been, and their regimental band definitely needed some work. The Second and Third Forms looked splendid, however, and then it was time for the graduating class.

The black uniformed officers-cadets no longer-wheeled by company into a long column. They first marched to Thayer's left, but then countermarched so they would pass directly in front of the reviewing stand. First came the band, playing a lively march, with the Regimental Commander and his staff right behind. As they came abreast the reviewing stand, the band wheeled to the left and the Commander and his staff to the right. The band stopped opposite the reviewing stand and the Commander to the stand's right. The regiment would pass in between them. Thayer knew that this ceremony had come down to them almost unchanged after twenty-five hundred T-years. It sent a thrill down her spine each time she saw it.

The First Battalion approached, led by its commander. This officer also wheeled to the right and joined the Regimental Commander next to the reviewing stand. The ten companies marched past, each company guidon dipping and every head snapping to the right to salute the Queen.

Then came the Second Battalion. A slender woman with short blonde hair led them. Thayer had been pleased when the Faculty Council had restored Helen's Cadet-Lieutenant Colonel rank, but today she was through with cadet ranks forever. She was Lieutenant (j.g.) Helen Zilwicki now, but this was still her command. She marched over to join the other field officers and then watched her battalion pass in review for the last time. Thayer glanced down at her goddaughter. Helen's face had an expression of sadness and incredible pride.

Rank after rank, the companies marched past. Their lines were laser straight and precise. As the end of the battalion drew near there was an excited stir among the guests on the reviewing stand.

After Second Battalion came the Regimental Color Company. This consisted of forty cadets-officers now, one from each company of the regiment. They were selected by their peers. Within the Color Company there were two posts of honor, the persons who would bear the Queen's Colors and the Regimental Colors. These were selected by a vote of the Color Company itself. A deserving young officer was carrying the Queen's colors today, but every eye was on the young woman bearing the Regimental Colors.

There was nothing unsteady about her stride now. She marched proud and erect. Lieutenant (j.g.) Andreanne Payne carried the colors of her regiment to pay honor to the Queen.

As the Color Company approached, the band struck up a traditional Grayson military march. They came abreast the reviewing stand and the Queen's Colors dipped slightly. Anny Payne brought the staff of the Regimental Colors to a forty-five degree angle. Thayer could see the two bits of bright metal pinned to her chest.

Up until now, the salutes of the cadets had been acknowledged only by the Queen. Now, however, every officer, Manticoran and Grayson alike, brought their hands up in salute. The civilians put their hands over their hearts. The regiment's field officers saluted with their swords.

With perfect timing, a faint rumble grew to a roar and three flights of _Javelins_ screamed overhead, one after the other. They were piloted by cadets from the other classes. It was the traditional "Three Cheers" formation. Thayer stood there; holding her salute and blinking back tears. _God, I'm proud of these kids!_

And then they were gone. The Third Battalion followed and then the Fourth. The regiment marched around and finally ended up back where it had started. All four regiments opened their ranks and presented arms and it was over.

As Thayer stood there, the Queen turned to her.

"Admiral, I want to offer you my congratulations and my thanks," she said. "You and your officers have done a magnificent job. There are those who have questioned whether the cadets trained under this new system are up to the task that lies before them. I can confidently tell them-and the Kingdom-that they need have no fears."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," replied Thayer. "On behalf of all of us, thank you very much."

An hour later, Sylvia Thayer had finally managed to break free of all the guests. There was a formal dinner tonight, but that was four hours away and Thayer needed some time alone. She headed back toward the older part of campus by some of the less used paths. She found that she was exhausted both mentally and physically. Her leg was aching and she wished she had brought her cane. She could have summoned a ground car, but she could stand the pain if it allowed her this moment of solitude.

At the end of the day the Three Hundred and Forty-Second Regiment of Cadets, Royal Manticoran Naval Academy, would cease to exist. Three thousand, one hundred and fourteen cadets had been mustered in thirty-five months ago. Of those, Thirty-seven were dead and commissioned posthumously. Eighteen more had been retired honorably due to injuries or other medical reasons. Four hundred and twenty-two had transferred and three hundred and seventy six had been expelled or resigned. The remaining two thousand, two hundred and sixty-one were now commissioned officers in the Royal Manticoran Navy.

Thayer should have felt very good about that, but instead, she found herself almost overwhelmed by a sense of gloom. She knew part of it was just her own sentimentality: she was going to miss those kids. Although she tried to project a tough, no-nonsense exterior, inside she was very emotional and nostalgic.

But her depression was more than that. Her thoughts went back to that morning. Helen and Anton, together as father and daughter for the first time in years. Anny Payne and Patric McDermott, obviously in love. Would they be given the time they needed? Could Helen find the time to heal? Would Anny and Patric be given the chance to love? Or in a few months' time would they be dead? Today did not mark the end, but just the beginning. The War was still waiting Out There.

And it did not care who it killed.

There were thirty-seven new names on the Roll of Honor. Twenty-two others had been inscribed there in the time that Thayer had been Commandant. Those fifty-nine names were burned into Thayer's soul. She knew every one of them. She had certainly had people under her command killed before. Some of them were nearly as young as those cadets. But this was different somehow. Those others had been killed while she was out there with them-running the same risks, taking the same chances. Now, she was staying here, safe, _training them to kill and then sending them out to kill and be killed._ Captain Keeler's words came back to haunt her yet again. Sending those wonderful young people out to die while she stayed behind was turning into the hardest thing Thayer had ever had to do.

And she was not sure she could do it anymore.

In less than a year her term as Commandant would be up. A large part of her wanted this to be her last year. That part of her wanted to leave the Academy, take her promotion and get a new combat command. But it was not a matter of the rank. Admiral Caparelli had hinted today that if Thayer stayed on for another term as Commandant, she might get her promotion to Vice Admiral very soon anyway. Was it a bribe to keep her here? Thayer really did not care.

No, it was not the rank. It was the war. The war was out there. For twelve years it had been killing and killing and killing. Thayer was sick of it. She wanted to do something to end it. To make the killing stop. _And I can't do that from here. All I can do here is prepare more lambs for the slaughter!_ Maybe if she went back out on the line she could do something to help win this war and halt the slaughter. And save some of those young people. The depression weighed heavier on her with every limping step she took.

Thayer had reached the formal gardens south of the Quad. Up ahead there was a fountain and at that point the path she was on would split. One way would take her back toward her office. The other way would take her back to her residence. She knew she ought to go to her office. There was so much work piled up she should make use of these coming hours. But she was tired. More tired than she could ever remember being. _Maybe a little nap would be a good..._

Out of the corner of her eye Thayer saw someone. She turned her head and then stopped. Walking among the flowering plants was a slightly stooped man in the full dress uniform of a chief petty officer. His hair and his mustache were nearly white. The man saw Thayer and walked over to her. There was a twinkle in his eye. He saluted and Thayer returned it.

"'Afternoon, Admiral!" said Jon Seaton. "How are you this grand day?"

"I'm fine, Chief." answered Thayer quietly. "And how are you?"

"I'm as good as can be, Admiral. It's a great day, a great day. The ceremony was quite a sight wasn't it? As many times as I've seen them graduate, I still get a big kick out of it. Watching those fine young folk out there does my heart good. It makes me feel like...like... Spring!"

"Spring?" said Thayer, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes, Admiral like Spring," said Seaton and he gestured to the flowers all around them. "It's like new life growing, new strength for the Fleet, like Spring!"

Thayer stood and stared at the elderly CPO. Part of her was amused, but she was moved as well. "You're a philosopher, Chief," she said.

"No, just a sentimental old man," smiled Seaton. "But you've done a fine job here, Admiral, you should be proud of what you've done."

"I've had a lot of help along the way. A lot of people deserve credit-including you, Chief. Thank you."

"Not at all, not at all," said Seaton with a chuckle. "We all have our place in the grand scheme of things."

Thayer looked at the long row of hash marks on Seaton's sleeve.

"We've put in a lot of years between the two of us, Chief," said Thayer.

"That we have, Admiral, but you seem to carry your years a bit better than I do."

Thayer looked at the man. _How old is he? Eighty? Ninety? First generation Prolong for sure. He seemed old that first day I saw him-over forty years ago._

"Have you ever thought about retiring, Chief?"

Seaton laughed. "Retire? Now why would I want to do a thing like that, Admiral? Why would I retire when there is still a job to be done?"

Thayer just shook her head, but a faint smile started on her lips. Her leg did not hurt quite so much. Some of the weight had left her shoulders. She held out her hand.

"Take care of yourself, Jon."

Jon Seaton took her hand and gripped it firmly.

"That I will, Ms. Sylvie, that I will. You take care, too."

They exchanged salutes and Jon Seaton turned and walked slowly away, back down the path Thayer had just come up. Sylvia Thayer stood and watched him until he was out of sight.

Then she turned and continued on her way. Her stride was sure and her shoulders were back.

She reached the fountain and she took the path to the right.

The path that led back to her office.

There was still a job to be done.

**The End**


End file.
